My History with Mental Health

The purpose of this post is to do something I encourage people to do, and more so now that I counsel. There is no advice, no conclusion, no lessons I am going to tell, just the dark elements of my life, my tendencies and some of the things my own brain has put me through, for no other reason than putting it out there for the world to see.

So as a baseline I am very prone to anxiety and worst case scenario thinking. Looking at my family it is certainly passed down, increasingly I believe genetically, but also affirmed by my upbringing. Another fundament to my mind are quite strong OCD tendencies. I very easily get obsessed and form quick habits, both good and bad, in both thought and action. I also have a fair share of intrusive thoughts which have often caused a great deal of trouble...which i shall get to.

Despite this up until about the age of 20 I was a relatively contented person. I was bullied horrendously in school, even a teacher used to refer to me as Mr D.A. (Mr Dumbass) and it became a steady nickname through most my years in high school. I had some of my closest friend use me as a verbal punchbag, some even going as far as, relatively regularly, saying something very close to, and verbatim, 'you are a worthless piece of shit, who has no friends, no one likes you.' And if not it was just constant jokes at my expense and most things I said or did were met with derision. For which I am partly to blame as I would laugh along with it and even join in at my own expense. Yet thankfully I remained chipper, but was just happy in the fact I was an idiot and what friends I did have were a blessing.

Due to moving around a lot this gave me quite significant abandonment issues. By the age of 19 I had been in 6 different schools, over 5 countries and something like 11 houses in my life. Consistency and a feeling of continuity was something I never had. This made me agree with everyone, as those friends felt more valuable to me, so valuable I would put up with and join in with abuse in order to have them. Obviously I was not conscious of this at the time.

At 19 I came back to the UK and had a great two years exploring myself and gaining confidence. I made fast friends that respected me and liked to spend time with me. I felt my power in the world, realised I was intelligent, that I was loved and had nothing but good will and and want to help people. I then went to University.

My mental health unravelled here more than I had ever thought possible. After the first 2 months in halls of residence I had come from a metropolis to the Bath country side, and I approached it feeling like I was undauntable and could withstand anything and be there for everyone. Along with a weed habit, failing university, some terrible relationships, by the middle of that academic year had entered a deep depression and a few months later I held an unwavering belief that I was a rubbish human being, a failure and was plagued by constant guilt. And avoided it through smoking weed and socialising.

Over the course of the next year, without direction, working terrible jobs after failing uni and struggling to talk to people, missing the person I had been in London, I got deeper and deeper into a pit of anxiety and depression. I suffered depersonalising panic attacks relatively frequently while adopting a chipper, albeit manic, facade at tills and around people for fear they might know. As time went on it got worse, taking MDMA and still smoking lots of weed my paranoia and anxiety hit its peak when I was about 22. I had become agoraphobic, and if it wasn't for my stubborn nature I would have never left the house, but when I did I was sick with fear and people's judgement, going to a pub or work was a massive effort and often resulted in the aforementioned panic attacks and without fail a feeling of failure, guilt at shame for merely being myself. I would go socialise with friends, and for the next few years this was the standard: I would smoke weed and sit with my eyes closed, fully aware, but feigning sleep and monging because I was too scared to open my eyes, and so far as opening my mouth it never went well, I always regretted it, so gave up trying. I managed to force things out, and could on better days be somewhat conversational. For the most part I was uncommunicative, with much to express but a firm belief that I could not express it clearly, would stutter through it, sound unconvincing and it would result in more self-hate. It was around this time that I also lapsed deeper into problems as I developed a psychosis. I believed that three of my friends were in a conspiracy to kill me, and I had no ability left to trust my own opinion on my self or anything, so I believed this intrusive thought. Then my OCD tendencies went to work and confirmed it through my eyes - any sentence, odd behaviour and so on - and for the next year or two, I could not shake it. At its worst it I would stalk the house at night with a knife or my hurling bat, checking every door, double checking locks and windows and my mind a-whirr looking for the ways they were plotting and confirming that I was in danger. At this time I faced my mortality nightly for several months. Certain if I fell asleep I might not wake up again. Again thankfully my natural stubbornness stopped me fully believing it. I certainly believed it enough for sleepless nights and lots of precautions and trying to read the situations. Yet what stopped me from fully committing I don't know, but I am glad I did not truly go all the way as I did consider, albeit somewhat vaguely, a pre-emptive strike.

It was also this time of my life where I came very close to throwing myself under a car. Only the once that suicide seemed like a drive, something to actually do and do now. This and the psychosis were the turning point.

At about 24 I started working harder, started to stop doing drugs, smoke less weed, and slowly but surely I gained more confidence. I practiced first just looking at people in the eye, something I struggled with a lot. Forcing myself to do it, and then to do it while breathing properly, then doing it while talking. To talk to people and force myself to remain calm. This was all done over tills as it was quick and easy, and then amongst friends it took much much much longer, arguably until the past year or two where I still didn't feel afraid and that I was not fundamentally unworthy (belief wise, I could at this point rationalise that I was, which is why I kept at it). It was about this time that I started being a DJ and promoter, when I fully threw myself into something, for the first time ever. Regardless of how scared or unable I felt, I bought a DJ console, a set of fairy lights and approached a wonderful but piss-ridden pub in Bath. In one month I had three nights a month. Which grew to one a week and two bi monthlies within three months, all while working at a cafe full-time. And I suddenly had no time for fear, I was committed and my anxious energy was channelled therein.

DJing was great, and really this is where my life turned the biggest corner, after a year or so I was confident, I was able to talk to people, I felt as though I was respected and, most importantly, felt strong. I felt able to commit to something, achieve things and thus was worthy of my own respect. DJing for me was amazing, a small booth, where you don't need to talk to anyone, where you can dance freely and are in control of the environment, and there I practiced talking to people more, engaging with eyes, sending out my joy they were there on my face rather than fear of what they thought of me. It was at this time I met the people I consider my best friends in the world, and from them have met everyone else I consider my dearest friends. I have gone to festivals and had unforseeable joys I could not even have imagined getting close to. People who were joyous and thought I was a great person, who were intelligent, sensitive and the people I wanted to be a part of.

For years I was terrified of them in a way, and still get feelings like I'm just an add-on. For which I want no sympathy. I came to realise that I love them, and it is reciprocal in some form or other, and I can't expect people to have the same love I have for them as they all mean so much more for what they gave me that I had never had and what pulled me from the last bits of my despair; the golden souls that gave me a community, consistency and over the years I have felt nothing but the profoundest love and gratitude for. The one anecdote that sums it all up was at the age of 24 I went to Tribe of Frog, my first excursion to Bristol. I was just coming out of my psychosis and remember going feeling like a small alien. Nothing more than a whisp of a person amongst dancing, smiling, joking, fashionable people I idolised and thought were just above me, to be one of them was not even a consideration. In truth I took in the warmth in their awesomeness and loved it, but to think I could ever be to that calibre of cool, connected and integrated made as much sense to me as an ant looking at a giraffe and going 'you know what, a long neck looks great, reckon I might get one.'

Three years later I DJed Tribe of Frog.

I was up there, smiling at the people dancing, laughing, getting high fives and back slaps for my set. While a whole room, the same room I had chatted to people in (as when I got really high I became normally conversational) and could not see myself even being worthy of their kind regard. It was then I realised that in a way I had made it, I was out the hole, well and truly out the hole.

And since then I have been a lot better. I still get anxious nearly daily, have a mild weed habit, am prone to worry and obsessing over certain things, not to mention having days and periods of no motivation. I get overwhelmed easily in large groups, it tires me out and I can get anxious there very easily. In no way debilitating, but staying on top of it takes a lot of energy. I always do better when focussing on dancing or have a role to play. Without those things it's a melee of information that I struggle to reconcile. This fluctuates depending on mood and time of year, and though my stamina increases it is still a significant part of my character. The past two years have been hard, and I will spare you too many details, but I watched a dear friend die, knew several more deaths, have been quasi-homeless for large spans of time and it caused a frequent insomnia (I thought I had sleep apnoea for ages). I still have a racing mind and need a lot of solitude to sort my head out, to keep on top of the spirals, anxiety and information I take in. Which only turn into those when I don't process the information regularly in meditation and quiet. But as the years go on they dwindle more and more and are almost now a backdrop, which at times get worse, but all I need is a month in a good bedroom and I am over the moon with my life. So there you have it. That's the side of myself that I want to show people, and I encourage others to perhaps do the same. Publish the shadow, we've all got them. xx