Things Fall Apart

My breakdown came at the beginning of Spring 2016. Just as the natural world was shaking off the long winter and preparing for new growth, I was falling to pieces.

With educated hindsight I realise that I had been suffering from anxiety for the past twenty years. But that Spring of 2016 produced the perfect storm of work, relationship and financial stress that swept away all my tired and ramshackle defences. I was left at the mercy of my anxiety.

At the time I was an Arboricultural lecturer at a large land-based college. On the day that the anxiety storm struck I had a very public meltdown at work which involved a very frank exchange with a senior member of the faculty (he had it coming – a mental health breakdown can be very liberating..). Over the following weekend the pressure built and built until come Monday morning I found myself physically shaking and in tears when contemplating the return to work. The thought of the long commute followed by facing a classroom of students became unbearable and I collapsed in on myself. Instead of driving to work I went to the Doctor who took one look at me and signed me off sick with stress and anxiety. After 15 years of teaching I would never return to college work.

Again, with educated hindsight I realise that as my symptoms progressed I had fallen into the classic anxiety and depression sufferers trap of keeping my own skewed counsel, talking to no-one and trying to fix everything myself. I alternated this with the other classic coping mechanism of just ignoring it and hoping it would eventually go away. It did not go away.

But this isn’t strictly true. I had been talking to someone. 

Following a difficult period in my personal relationships I had been encouraged by my partner at the time to see a counsellor. In a rare moment of behaving as an emotional adult, I took the advice and began to see a counsellor once a week. It was around 8 months into my therapy when my breakdown happened. I found counselling an enormous help and continued to attend counselling for another 18 months. 

However, I also believe that my counselling had a direct hand in causing my breakdown. It opened doors that could not and would not be closed again. I had to face how deeply unhappy I was making myself with my unhealthy mental habits if I wanted to change those habits and move my life forward in an authentic way. 

I needed my breakdown. 

I needed to press reset and, when I couldn’t do it myself, my brain did it for me.

Once I left work I very quickly reached a stage where I couldn’t leave the house without being gripped by anxiety. Without my structure, I began to fall apart and at my worst moments I was reduced to rocking and repeating aloud my coping mantra “It’s alright, it’s okay, it’s alright, it’s okay..” over and over. It was not alright, and it was not okay.

When the doctors suggested medication to help me to regain equilibrium I accepted. And so began the chemical roulette to find a drug or combination of drugs that would work for me. Anyone who has been on this particular rollercoaster will know how harrowing it can be.  We settled on Venlafaxine (Effexor in the US) and it did help when I needed it most. However,  coming off it was a long drawn out nightmare, but this is a conversation for another time.

I was on medication for almost two years and I’ve been medication-free for two months. My anxiety was still waiting for me but I’m determined to stay medication free and deal with it in other ways. My carving and my creative pursuits are a big part of my new anxiety busting toolkit. I’ve also restarted counselling to get me through this transition period.

If anyone is still reading, thanks. I know this has been a long post but I think this history is important for the context of future posts. If there is anything to take away from this, I would say that talking to someone about feelings of anxiety or depression is just about the best thing you can do. 

I know it’s not easy to admit to these feelings and from a male perspective it can be even harder. I was raised in a northern working-class environment where talking about feelings and admitting difficulty would often be interpreted as weakness. This is a toxic notion. Suffering in silence is just that.

And that’s why I’m talking about my mental health issues now, thanks for listening…