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Mental Me, Mental Lee

Mental Health Awareness Week

By Lee ThompsonPublished 6 years ago 5 min read
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Always look up

As Mental Health Awareness week has come and gone each year I have always thought about my own experiences and how I would love to get them out there, even if one person read it and it helped them with how they are feeling. The reason? Fear of judgment. Friends, family, and colleagues thinking I was weak or "just being silly." We hear it far too often and it suppresses us and often makes our mental wellbeing deteriorate as a result.

My first experience was at the age of 14 after a turbulent few years and the recent death of a grandparent. The feeling was like being hit by a truck made of ice cold water and Wolverine’s claws. First panic. Breathlessness. Shakes. Then what followed was a flurry of mixed feelings and then I screamed—"I AM DYING!" Of course I wasn’t as I had been running the full length of our hallway in an Arsenal dressing gown (leave it!) screaming that I couldn’t breathe. Anyone that has experienced panic or anxiety attacks will know all too well the feeling of impending doom, especially when you are new to these attacks.

What followed were a few remaining, uncomfortable school years of dealing with severe anxiety and panic attacks. I was the class clown, and still am to a degree, as it was my way of putting a mask on to hide the fear and pain this condition was bringing. I lived on a council estate where drugs and alcohol were rife so there was easy access to anything that could numb the constant feeling of death. It would later turn out that I was struggling with my identity as well as family breakdown so I didn’t stand a chance in my current environment.

I quickly moved home, started work and continued to suffer, often in silence, and a great annoyance to friends and family who just thought "I was being silly" or "flaky." It was when my doctor mentioned these "miracle pills" and CBT that I thought "Wow, there is something out there to help and even more surprisingly; I am not alone!" I was quickly put on anti-depressants and referred for cognitive behavioural therapy. The pills took a while to kick in and boy did they have a kick!

CBT didn’t work out. I remember the day well. Waking up full of the normal fear and anxiety and on the very edge of a precipice of darkness and panic. I got there early, as people with anxiety often do as being late in itself often triggers us, and waited to be called. A lady came out, collected me and took me to a room and introduced me to her colleague who was sitting in to learn. "So, can you tell me why you are 10 minutes late?" Can you imagine that being the first thing asked in any meeting let alone one you are wishing is going to cure you of all of these feelings? I was immediately on edge. I was early! I explained the best I could through a series of blabbering and stuttered sentences where the therapist finally dismissed it with a wave of her hand and the session began. It ended one minute later with my confidence shattered and my confidence in her ability to help me in the precipice I was now falling into. You might wonder why I am telling you this as surely it made things worse. It didn’t. It made me realise I have to help myself and my mental wellbeing is my responsibility.

I did go through some years of turbulence (I won't go into further detail but it wasn’t pretty!), severe anxiety and panic and after being on medication for many years since my CBT experience I found myself at a fork in the road. One was mental and physical oblivion and the other an opportunity. My Great Grandad had died not long before this and on attendance at his funeral, I felt nothing. Not sadness, grief, loss; not even anxiety. It was then I realised that medication had changed me into someone that friends and family recognised less than when I was dealing with the raw anxiety. It was time for me to say goodbye to the medication and I did, forever.

It is worth pointing out that I am a huge advocate for cognitive behavioural therapy, or any assistance for that matter, which helps with these ultimately soul destroying and often life-ruining feelings. I would implore anyone to seek help. I haven’t written this down for years because of fear and judgment but the help is out there and different therapies work for different people. The biggest piece of advice I can give is to talk. Talk to your mates, your Mum, your Sister, your Brother, god forbid it your manager—anyone! It helps and opens the dialogue for help and in the wider sense and is ultimately what will break the taboo of mental health, especially in the workplace. Men are even less likely to talk about their feelings and with suicide being the biggest killer in men under 45 the evidence is clear—we aren’t talking to each other.

Talk to your employer about how you are feeling. Trust me, they do not judge and the help is out there through benefits like employee assistance programmes where there are often specialists who deal with mental health and its wider impact. There is light at the top of the precipice, so keep climbing. You can only fall for so long so before you hit the bottom like I did, seek help. Start that climb, you may falter, but push through.

I credit medication, changing my overall outlook, and giving up caffeine (seriously ditch it, it doesn’t help) to my success and these days I am a much more anxiety free. Very little triggers those feelings; but I do also recognise and respect what does so I manage those feelings and react as I need to—I come first. Diet and exercise help on an interestingly life-changing level, as they release those feel-good endorphins, but don’t overwhelm yourself; start small and build on those great feelings. I know what you’re thinking. That’s easy to say. But why not try? I often felt nothing would help but you have to start somewhere and you have to keep fighting that fight and it will get better. It has to, right?

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