An Introduction...

Mental health, that thing everyone posts about on Facebook. The condition - or range of conditions which is more accurate - that everyone does press-ups for or shares a funky hand photo (ill touch on this one later). The condition that people love to support yet still cause mental health conditions to worsen by their own actions.

I think its important to share my own story, how my mental health began to deteriorate; not for sympathy or attention (another favourite i've seen and heard) but to show how traumatic episodes can change you.

At 15 I had a traumatic experience. In a small cottage in Carmyllie, Scotland, my pregnant mum had a bronchial asthma attack.

Unfortunately, despite my efforts, she died. She didn't pass away, people who pass away do it painlessly, comfortably, surrounded by their family. My mum, unfortunately didn't have that. She died a painful and frantic death with a horrible look of fear etched on her face as her body suffocated her to death on a cold stone floor on the 8th of February 2000.

Some will feel sad reading that part, some will find it difficult. For years I didn't want to talk about it, for years I didn't want to re-live that experience... and thats where it started to go wrong.

Upon reflection, my first experience of poor mental health started a few weeks after she died. I was far too normal, I went back to school, I socialised with friends, played golf - not very well - I went out... i was a normal 15 year old. But I was a normal 15 year old who really shouldn't be normal.

I wasn't "coping well", instead I was ignoring everything, I was pushing everything to the back of my mind and putting on a 'brave face' as I used to hear, being a man, just getting on with it. A few months went past, I was doing the same as before, I was one of the lads, I had a good group of friends, I went out with them at night, had a few drinks, and just got on with it.

But the cracks started to appear.

The first i noticed, I really struggled to get out of bed in the mornings, I didn't really want to see people, not even my grandparents who i lived with at this point. I would say to my gran I wasn't going to school that day, that I wasn't feeling great then I'd go back to my room. I'd only go downstairs for food. I started watching movies as a distraction. I'd watch movies over and over again every day. Gran would take me to the video shop in Carnoustie a couple of times a week to get a few rentals as I'd watched everything in the house and everything on TV. It got to the stage i'd watched pretty much every DVD available in Visions Video Shop, I had to wait for the new releases to come out every week to have something new to watch.

Anyway... i digress...

I'd started to slip, I was starting to struggle to sleep at nights, starting to sleep all day, starting the nocturnal cycle. Im no psychologist but looking back I totally get it now... if you sleep all day, you don't need to talk to people, you get solitude, you get peace, just you and the darkness and that was the problem.

I started to think things id never thought before. I thought a lot about death and sadly I thought a lot about killing myself. Again, I didn't think about "taking my own life" or thinking about "suicide"... i thought about killing myself. I thought of ways to do it, I thought about pills - there were a lot of them in the house - I thought about cutting myself, I thought about hanging myself. I wasn't educated on how to kill myself but I knew I had free access to a few ways of doing it. I would sit and plan it in my head, thinking about when I would do it, how bad things would have to get for me to go through with it. Unbeknown to me, it was getting closer and closer.

The months passed, what was once a great relationship with my grandparents became strained. They were old and didn't really get it... and they were still hurting too... they'd lost two daughters. I had dipped in mood enough for my gran to force me to go to the doctor. Sleep was the focus so I was put on amitryptiline and dothiepin. My first foray into medicating. Not my last.

My gran was a Saint. A hero... the nicest, most self-sacrificing person I've ever known. She put everyone first but herself. She lived with a once wonderful husband who had broken because of my mums death and a grandson who was gradually slipping. My grandad, a proud man, once active but by that time plagued by physical pain and a list of ailments as long as your arm had started to drink more. He was my hero when I was little. He taught me all the things your grandad should... he taught my how to ride a bike, how to ride a motorbike, how to play football, how to change a tyre, he even taught me to pee standing up!!! But we weren't the same people anymore... i was lost, he was lost... when he drank he changed. I would get the blame for what happened with my mum.

Not many people know this... my gran did, my wife does... i think that's it. When he was drunk we'd argue, not about big things really, making too much noise, TV being too loud... but they would escalate. They'd escalate to us shouting at each other, often in the kitchen, and he'd always slip back to it being my fault my mum wasn't here. I didn't do enough. You were useless. You should have done more. Id have done more. I could have saved her...

Reading that makes him sound horrible... he wasn't horrible at all. He was broken. My mum had been the apple of his eye... he was projecting his own guilt onto me. He wasn't blaming me... he blamed himself. But I didn't realise that until a few years later.

Our relationship finally caved after an altercation in the kitchen that ended up getting physical. No punches, we ended up pushing and shoving each other and I couldn't take it anymore. I did something selfish that I have long since regretted. I wanted out. Gran had helped me out financially and had signed the house over to me by this point. I was 19 and thought I knew best. So In simple terms I put the house on the market and sold up from under them. The house they'd worked hard for, had memories in... earned. I feel a lot of guilt about that now. I'd snapped and only had resentment left. I hated my grandad at this point. I hated my gran because I felt like she was letting it happen. I didn't realise that the one person none of us were really thinking about was her.

By this point I'd moved onto fluoxetine as a medication, it was discovered I was allergic so citalopram was next. It was horrible. I still blame it for the state of my teeth. I used to clench my jaw so tightly I could feel the grit in my mouth in the mornings where the enamel was being worn away. So I stopped taking any medication.

I moved to a rented flat in Dundee, gran and grandad moved into sheltered housing in carnoustie and we didn't see each other much for a while.

It was only when gran became ill that we started talking. She had a brain tumour. She'd gone to her wee part time retirement job for a paint sprayer where she did the books and some office work, she'd been in the car and she had a bit of an episode and her boss had seen it and phoned an ambulance. Initially they suspected a stroke but it turned out to be a tumour.

She had surgery to remove it and we had our first proper conversation for a long time. I said a lot of sorrys, we cried, we talked about life, mum, grandad etc. She was preparing for the worst. The surgery went well and she seemed to be out of the woods, she improved a lot and seemed to get a lot better. I had my first son by this point to a previous relationship, he met gran which made me happy. He won't remember her but I remember how happy she was. She'd have loved my kids and they'd have loved her.

But as often happens, the tumour came back.

I didnt see her a lot after that. In hindsight I was being selfish. In reading this there will no doubt be judgement passed but in honesty, I didnt want to see her. I saw my mum in her most vulnerable, fearful and horrible last moments. I didnt want to see my gran fade away. I didnt want to have that as a memory. I wanted to remember the good times, I wanted to remember her rolling her eyes at me, passing on life skills, teaching me to cook, making soup in the kitchen, not the shell she'd become, so I stayed away. We talked on the phone occasionally, i went a couple of times to Stracathro to see her near the end but I couldn't handle much more.

Finally, I received a message from my Uncle Bill, grans brother saying I had to phone Auntie Irene, grans younger sister. I knew what it was about... gran had gone.

I helped with the funeral prep, talked to grandad but I still wasn't ready for it all... again, I was putting on a brave face. Inside I was devastated. I was full of regret, full of self loathing and full of sadness.

Again, the dark days weren't far away. I started to become isolated again, this time at home with my girlfriend, I started to become nocturnal again, was constantly tired and grumpy, just a bit lost again. I took time off work, 6 months in total but I couldnt break the cycle so I quit my job. My doctor had prescribed more pills, again more focused on sleep but it didn't work, I would just fight it all night then sleep all day. Again avoiding people.

We had moved to Monifieth by this point, had our own little flat and we were happy. Grandad had tried to visit a few times but I avoided him. I still couldn't forgive what had happened before and I was trying to forget the past.

Live a new life, man up and get on with it.

Again I spiralled. I spiralled pretty hard. I was in a dark, dark place. I was a doorman at the time and I'd become someone I didnt like. I was angry all the time, sarcastic, a dick. I dont know why but I randomly made the decision to go to visit him.

Im glad I did. We talked. We talked a lot. We cried. We laughed. We told funny stories about gran and mum. We said we were sorry. We said we'd build our relationship again.

He died 2 weeks later. Found by a family friend on the living room floor.

I did what I always do... stepped in and got on with it. Irene and I planned the funeral, I spoke at it. Not from the previous few years but I spoke about the good times, when I was young, the fun we had, the times we'd been there for each other. The times I missed. I still miss them now.

Time passed and I finally thought about counselling. I went to talk to someone, I went a few times but toxic masculinity took over. I didnt need to talk to her. I was a man... i just got on with it. More pills. Back to citalopram this time.

Life settled a bit for a few years. I had a beautiful little boy who I adore. He was my

focus in life. He gave me purpose. I'd made the decision to go back to education before grandad had died. I'd tried previously after school but I couldn't do it with my nocturnal life at the time. So I withdrew. I went back to Angus College to study Sports Coaching and Development. Id been coaching rugby for a few years at this point. I enjoyed coaching and it was a really positive experience.

Hnc was a breeze, unfortunately grandad died in the middle of my hnd year and the depression hit again. It was bad this time. As above, I was back on pills, couldn't sleep at night, couldn't stay awake during the day.

I was "invited to leave" the course. Ill be honest, this is where college misses a trick compared to University. Student welfare. Not once was I offered help. I was told my attendance was low so I had to go. In the lead up to being asked to leave, I was contemplating killing myself every night. I had a pdf copy of a suicide manual on my phone. I wont name it but it had every way you could imagine. I'd even picked my method again... and bought the equipment to do it. Had I not had support at home, it probably would have pushed me over the edge. Im not saying this to blame or to shame, more of as an indication of the failings to see mental health problems in people or the lack of training provision for staff in the workplace and in education.

I took a few months out, had a job, a decent wage... then made an absolute 'on a whim' decision to go back to Education. I applied through clearing for Abertay, had a small interview by a lady who I'll gladly name. Helen McHardy. Helen is an incredible person. She features again later but she is a hero. I've never met such a profoundly intelligent person who is so humble and caring. But don't cross her. One look had a noisy lecture hall in silence. I loved that about her. Nice as pie but takes no shit.

Anyway... tangent...

Helen gave me a place on a sports science degree pathway. Id loved science at school and loved sport, I was never amazing at sport but I loved it and I was still coaching rugby at the time. I started University a week later.

It wasn't easy, I struggled at times, I had a particularly bad few months between March and July at the end of first year. Suicide was again on the cards. I wrote letters this time, took the powder out of 50 tramadol capsules and had them in a glass with a couple of big spoonfuls of jam. I took a big spoonful and the taste was horrific. I vomited nearly instantly. I then had the regret, the fear... i forced myself to be sick drank saltwater and forced myself to be sick again. I felt incredibly drowsy, faint, light headed but I was lucky. I fell asleep but I woke up.

I've never told anyone that before... just how close I came...

I came out of that spell with Helen's help. She helped me with support at Abertay, made me realise that Depression wasn't a bad word and that there was other help available and that I was at the stage I should ask for it. I did. I met a lady at Abertay who is the Disability Support Officer. Much like Helen she was incredibly compassionate and empathetic. She helped me a lot. I nominated her for an award at Abertay one year and she won it. Best support staff I think it was.

To a lot of you, this might be a shock as this was only five or six years ago.

Since then, we had another baby. Hes incredible. He is the most loving little boy I've ever known. I look forward to him my running down the hall shouting "Daddy" when I get home. Jen and I got married. We had a beautiful wedding at Glen Clova. I used to go for walks there with mum when I was a kid. Its a place close to my heart, her ashes are scattered there and its where I go when I just need some time to myself. Even just a wee walk 500 yards up old jocks Road is enough to ground me. We got married in the kirk at Clova and I felt happy. Truly happy for the first time in a long time.

Although things were better, they still weren't great. I still needed help and I was still struggling mentally. I hadn't taken any pills for a few years but I was aware I was on a downward turn again so decided to go to counselling. I had an awful experience. One of those counsellors who just doesn't get you... "i want you to draw your garden of grief"... pal, I draw stick men. I need a realist. I know what my issues are, I have done for 20 years.

I have anxiety and depression brought on by a traumatic event. I have ptsd. I comfort eat.

If you know me, im not ashamed of that, I openly talk about my experiences if you ask the right questions but I tend to skim the surface with it. I dont go into depth. This is the first time I've told the story in full... all be it a very short version but the full story none the less.

Counselling really wasn't for me. So I just did my usual. Got on with it.

I kept going until about a year ago. I was having a difficult time, I was struggling at work so i went back to my GP and was given duloxetine. Jen was pregnant again and I had the usual pregnancy fears... finances, work-life balance (something im still working on). The early side effects were awful. Clenching, restless legs, sore heads, thirst, dizziness. It was hell for a few weeks but it began to subside and I felt more positive and I noticed a reduction in my anxiety levels. I've gone a year now of duloxetine and in general they've done a job. It's only with some recent stresses that they weren't doing enough for the anxiety.

So here I am now... ironically this is what I actually wanted to write about... above was just supposed to be a back story but when I started writing it, I found it cathartic. If you don't want to read it, you'll have given up by now, for the rest of you, thanks.

I've now been prescribed Sertraline. I'm keen to give them a go... but before I can start them, I need to stop the duloxetine. Cue the most horrendous withdrawal I've ever experienced.

I was advised to drop my dosage to 60mg per day for 5 days, then to drop to 60mg every other day for 10 days then go 3-5 days with nothing. Im on day 9... 4 days into the every other day stage. Its horrific.

Brain zaps...these are actually a thing. The strangest sensation ive ever felt. Like getting an electric shock behind your eyes at the same time as that weird moment when you "fall" in bed. They're awful. The world goes fuzzy and there are flashes of light. I feel like I'm going to pass out when they happen.

The sweating... again, not pleasant. Im literally wearing shorts and t shirt to work and I'm still sweating constantly.

The dry mouth... i honestly feel like I've been sucking cotton wool.

The headaches... intense, sharp headaches and nothing helps them.

The forgetfulness. Ive resorted to writing on my hand, in pads etc... i forget everything!!!!

I've been having those thought again. Planning ways to do it, thinking when to do it.

This will shock some people as I've heard these comments in recent months, especially after Caroline Flack.

"Its a selfish thing to do"

"Thats horrible, they obviously weren't thinking about their wife, kids etc"

"Its cowardly"

"Its the easy way out"

To disect these a little... yes its selfish. Its selfish because your own life or death sometimes feels like the only thing you can control.

Yes it would be traumatic for my wife and kids... i torture myself with that every day. But if you lived a day in my head, you'd think the thoughts I do too.

Its not cowardly... do you realise the courage it takes to actually follow through with ending your own life... killing yourself...

Easy way out? Far from it. If it was easy, suicide rates in the UK would be far higher.

Back to pills...

As it stands, I have 6 more days of the one every other day and I dont know if I can keep going. Its getting too difficult now and its affecting me at work and at home. Something has to give.

This brings me on to the here and now. I wanted to touch on something. Pressups for mental health, 5k for male suicide.

I need to be honest... its a great idea but people make it bullshit. Its a false message. Take a look back on Instagram or Facebook. Find someone who did it and ask yourself... has this improved mental health awareness?

In my opinion... no it hasn't. All its done is make people feel like they're doing something. But those same people give people abuse behind their back bully people, intimidate them in the workplace, beat their partners, post racist, homophobic messages on social media. Its all false.

If you want to make a difference to mental health, stop looking at those who suffer from it and start looking at yourself. How do you talk to people? How do you talk about people? Do you criticise people? Do you support them? Be a good person... the stigma is still there because people still judge.

People will judge me for writing this... i honestly don't care. I have a small circle of friends, all of whom know my story, or most of it. If you don't agree with it, click the button to remove me as a friend. This isn't about you.

For those who relate to anything I've written. Im going to say something which I think is overused by people who do pressups for mental health...

I am always here to talk to. I regularly speak to 4 or 5 people who message me when they feel low. I dont judge them. We just talk. We talk about how they feel. We we talk about our day. The little things like putting on a lb or two, the big things like grief, sexuality, gender, family illness. We just talk.

Im here and I'm always available. Helping you helps me.

If you don't want to reach out... contact andysmanclub if you're a guy. If you need to talk but find texting easier, message Shout! On 85258. The samaritans, nightline, relate.

There are dozens of services. Just dont sit on your own and don't be scared to talk.

As I said above, this isn't a cry for help, its an education. Im far from perfect, like everyone else, but I wanted to share this with those of you who have been through difficult times, who struggle daily, who have forgotten how it feels to feel normal.