Mental illness and me

Monday 29^th September, 2008. It was the start of a routine work day, except I could feel things weren’t quite right. My boss had spoken to me the previous Friday about a minor issue at work but it had played on my mind all weekend. It seems it’s not the big issues in life that push us over the edge. Anyway I got in the bath, got out of the bath ten minutes later, then got back in the bath to have the wash and shave I’d intended to have in the first place! Getting dressed was another major feat that day; if it hadn’t been for my wife telling me to get dressed I’m not sure I would have done so. Hmmmmm, turning up at work naked would have turned a few heads I’m sure…………

Dressed and as ready for work as I was ever likely to be, off I set. How I got to work I do not remember. I had no recollection of the journey but I do remember feeling more and more anxious as I drove to work and when I got there I just sat in the car. I had no idea what I was doing; I just knew things weren’t right. It was a colleague who managed to get me out of the car and got me into the office. Otherwise I doubt if I’d have got out of the car. It turned out I’d been sitting in the car for 20 minutes. The 8am news was on the radio when I arrived but after that I had no idea of time. It was only my colleague telling me it was 8.20 when she arrived that I was able to work out how long I had been sitting on that car park. When I eventually made it to the office I sat like a zombie without a clue as to what was going on around me. As colleagues arrived at work, without exception they said I should go home and eventually I agreed I would see the boss and then go home. However, before I got into the boss’s office I broke down and cried uncontrollably for ten minutes (according to the friends who looked after me, (note how I’ve changed from using the word “colleague” to “friend”). The boss took one look at me and told me to go home and make an appointment to see my doctor. My friends were so concerned that they insisted on going with me to make sure I didn’t crash the car! Was I really that bad? It would appear I was but didn’t know it – yet.

I was lucky. There was an emergency appointment with the doctor as soon as I arrived at the surgery, so I was seen immediately. He didn’t take long to diagnose anxiety caused by stress, signed me off for two weeks but added that I would most likely be off work for some time. The best piece of advice he gave me was to NOT sit in the house, but to get out and do things. He recommended lots of exercise, and to go and do different things. So there I am: just like 1 in 4 people in the country, I have a mental illness. This will come as no surprise to many who know me, who have always thought I was a bit daft!!

Having a diagnosis was actually quite a relief. At least now I know what I’m dealing with, and as I write this in October 2010, I know I still have to be careful and take note of the signals. At the time of writing I’ve had another period off work and I’m now on medication to reduce the anxiety. But I am a lot, lot better than I was and I can see the funny side of the things that happened to me in 2008. Sit back and enjoy just a few of the lighter moments.

Shopping was fine so long as I had a list of exactly what to buy and stuck to the list with no deviation. Making decisions, however, was a different matter altogether. Armed with said list on day two of the illness I went to Preston to get some things for the house. My wife suggested I have my lunch at one of the eating places at the shopping centre while I was there. I got the shopping fine but then came lunch: pizza seemed a good idea until I read the menu. No, far too complicated. Too many choices! What do I like, what do I not like? What should I drink? Sod this: I’ll go next door to McDonalds. At least they have pictures of the food! Again, too difficult. Hmmm, maybe the doctor was right, I am ill. Never mind I’ll go to Dobbie’s Garden Centre for a salad. I can see the food there, pick it up, eat some of it and decide that way whether or not I like it! What I really needed was someone to say, “That’s an egg, you like eggs”………. After lunch I had a walk round the garden centre. Remember I said I was fine if I had a list? Does anyone want to buy a very large cactus? We have one that we don’t need and never intended buying!

Getting a haircut was also a joke. What’s the first thing they ask? “How would you like your hair Sir?” “Errrr, shorter than it is now”, was the best I could reply. I had absolutely no idea what I wanted him to do. I simply explained I was unable to decide and would have to trust him to cut my hair. He could have cut any wacky and weird style that day and I wouldn’t have known!

Driving also became somewhat problematic. On more than one occasion I couldn’t remember which exit to take on a roundabout so I just kept going round, unable to get off! My record was four times round the same roundabout. Mr. Bean springs to mind……….. I would also forget where I was going and would regularly have to stop to ring my wife to ask:

“I’m in Preston, where am I going?”

“You daft bugger, you’re going to Blackpool to see your counsellor. Ring me when you get to Kirkham so I know you’re going the right way.”

“Where’s Kirkham?”

How my wonderful wife and son put up with the nutter in their home I will never fathom, but I thank God I have them.

But then there were the panic attacks that I would suffer for no apparent reason. For example the day we went shopping. My son wanted to go into one particular shop with me and I froze: I couldn’t go in the shop. It was a shop I’d been in many times before and was a shop I liked to look around. However, I physically could not go in. I remember thinking if my son wanted to buy anything I had no cash to give him so how would we buy it?

My family were also wonderfully supportive, as were my friends. You really find out who your friends are at a time like this. Attending a family Christening shortly after I became ill, my brother and a good friend were there to greet me and spent the day poking friendly fun at me, (and by doing so they kept a close eye on me to check I was OK). My Brother started it with: “So you’ve not worn a tie today then? Best not, we don’t want anything restrictive round your neck!” And at the buffet, he and my friend took me by an arm each and pointed at everything, telling me what it was and whether or not I liked it! Thanks lads, I love you too! But through it all there was hardly a day when I didn’t get a call from my family and friends, just to talk to me and help me through it.

All of these, and a whole load more, added a lot of talking points to my weekly counselling sessions. I couldn’t understand what was happening to me. All these things I was doing that I’d never done before made me even more confused and anxious. My counsellor, (see how she is MY counsellor, no-one else’s), reassured me with this question: “Does this not tell you how ill you are?”

Most of the time, I had no idea what I was saying to the counsellor. I just put my trust in her that she would somehow be able to unravel it all and make sense of it. But this question meant the penny finally dropped and instead of feeling like a fraud I realised I was really very ill and I was still getting worse. There would be a long way to recovery but it could start now because I finally realised I was ill.

I found it strangely comforting that whenever I walked anywhere, 1 in 4 of the people in the same place were also mentally ill. I’m not alone, it’s simply that people don’t see mental illness and we appear “normal”. This point was highlighted when my son broke his arm. Every day, without exception our neighbours asked him how his arm was. In the 3 months I was off work, they never asked me how I was.

Knowing how ill I was meant I was able to start and take charge of my situation. I stopped doing many of the things I did before the illness took hold and started to say “No” when people asked me to do things. One thing I’ve learned is that if you always say “Yes” you always get asked and if you always say “No” you rarely get asked. So the last two years have seen a lot less people asking because they don’t like to hear “No”.

I did, however, carry on with the Masters Degree that I was studying. Ironically the module was ‘Physical Activity and Mental Health’ It could only happen to me! The module turned out to be very useful, however, as it helped me to understand mental illness much better and I was therefore able to get more help than I might have done otherwise. I enlisted the help of a friend who was studying Psychology at University. We swapped treatment: he had a football injury so I fixed his knee while he fixed my head. I began to see the illness as an injury. If you sprain an ankle you do exercises to make the ankle strong again: I saw my brain as also being in need of exercises to make it strong again. And just like treating a physical injury, not everything worked immediately. So we tried different things that worked for me. Most notably I kept, (and still keep), a stress diary to record what happened, why it happened and whether I was responsible for the stress. I quickly realised that most of the stress, (probably 99%), was not of my making. I can now analyse situations much more quickly without needing to write them down. We also used imagery. I had to imagine and picture in my mind, a place that made me really happy. As I write this I can clearly “see” this place and I am relaxed and smiling as I write.

During my fortnightly doctor’s appointments I always asked the same question: “When will I be back at work?” His answer was always the same: “You’ll come in here and tell me when you are ready for work. Asking me means you aren’t ready.” So it came a quite a shock when I saw him after 2 months off work and said I wanted to go back. “Fine”, he said, “We’ll just give it another month to make sure.” Although I was disappointed I saw his point. The next month would take us to Christmas and would allow me to start back in a new year and start afresh.

They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and that’s certainly true in my case. I wouldn’t say I’m recovered, but I’m certainly better than I was two years ago. Mental illness is now something I acknowledge I have, and am always likely to have, and therefore something I just have to live with and work around. So long as I’m careful what I do and take note of the warning signs I’ll be fine. Now, what was I supposed to be doing before I started writing this??????????

Written by: Brian Porter

Submitted: 21^st October 2010

Edited by: Brenda J Earnshaw WRR Editor