Writing about ones weaknesses is the hardest part. There is the fear that you will be seen to be seeking pity. I have read some autobiographical pieces on mental illness that have been far from that and, given one in four will suffer some sort of mental illness during their lives there still is a shortage in books that tackle the subject.
I have always had periods where the connections in my head become unwired, where the information I am taking in strays, sometimes dramatically from the truth. Other members of my family have also suffered so I believe a genetic predisposition combined with the right circumstances can trigger episodes. There are many I have met and spoken to with far deeper problems than I have had, through it all I have mostly managed to work enough to support myself, taking responsibility for ones own life was drilled in to me from a young age. There have been many times where I should not have been so hard on myself; sought help rather than self medicating. Few drug addicts and alcoholics do it for fun, the majority have mental health issues. Doing anything that is slowly killing you goes against all natural survival instincts. Even in school where I first was taken to a psychiatrist I was showing a deviant streak. I believe that my use of drugs at a young age, before the brain is fully developed may well have a baring on this. There isn't the money for the National Health system to provide continued trained support and proffessional help given to individual cases so many end up self medicating. The subject is taboo in all strands of society. The working class, or what little remains and certainly an attitude I got from my dad are taught to knuckle down, show no weakness, work through it all. Often this is what I have done yet frequently drifting in to substance misuse to self medicate.
My earliest memories were after my second mushroom season, aged 14. Each trip I had done, and there were many, I came down less and less from. Fractal colours still dot my vision. Part of me enjoyed the manics I had then that the subsequent depressions seemed a price worth paying. During those manics I could work tirelessly on mad projects. An example would be when unable to get in the house, the glass from my sisters window had been smashed out during some high jinks some months back and lay in front of the porch. I began arranging the fragments of glass, they felt as defined and predesigned as a jigsaw, for hours I rummaged through them making a giant crow on the concrete. The same dedication I would apply to paintings in the school art block, usually destroying them for imperfections and flaws others couldn't see.
By moving to first Cornwall and then to the Yorkshire Dales I managed to get away from drugs that were so clearly damaging me. Everyone I knew there at least smoked dope. During the brief stint between living in these two places I spent maybe 10 months in Leeds. One time, not due to any acid hallucination the flat seemed to be darkening, like a gas or smoke was gradually increasing. I couldn't smell it and this helped me to confirm it wasn't real. I was back in the second world war in some air rade or defensive shelter. I knew storm troopers were lurking outside so escape was impossible. The world was closing in on me. It was with some relief I moved to the country. This presents its own problems as spending too much time alone allows incorrect readings to grow unhindered.
After living in Birmingham, following my girlfreind of the time, for a few months, the lack of stimulus saw my mind drifting. There were 4 murders in the area I lived and walked while I lived there. This didn't scare me, they were all parts of themselves. In the house directly behind me a schizophrenic bloke killed the girl in the flat below him. One morning I had to take a different route to work as police had taped off a road where a young asian lad had killed his young girlfreind. Afew months later, in the road parrallel to that a man thought his two young children were posessed and beat there heads in on his garden wall. The last was a more mundane drug related killing in an all night cafe. As I said, none of this scared me yet one weekend alone there I became so agraphobic I couldn't evcn get to the shops. The tarmac was shifting and changing, pavements had clifflike drops, hedges forest like. I was clean as a whistle so this was all in my head. I saw a doctor who prescribed me valium which helped. He booked me an appointment with a psychiatrist. Inside the mental hospital which was one of the old victorian type asylums, High Royds in Leeds was similar, I waited. What is it with psychiatrists? do they do it on purpose? they all seem to have an affectation that gives them away. This one wore a pink polka dotted shirt, a bowtie and round cicular Lennon glasses perched low down his nose. I left learning nothing. As is often the case, once you book an appointment with any doctor all symptoms seem to disappear on the day you need to be ill. I guess I wasn't mad enough for him.
Though I had a few ups and downs I didn't seek any further help for another decade. Once I got through my early twenties, the more schizophrenic like symptoms had calmed down. To this day I have the odd bout of this sort but they are largely manageable. This period of mental stabillity saw me through my travelling days and through the five years I spent studying. It was after this that saw me in poor condition. Having set my sights on lecturing my plan paid off. After a year as a technician that I thoroughly enjoyed I applied for a lecturing position at UCE in Birmingham. Having landed this job, The University of Wolverhampton asked me to do two days a week, this made 4 and a half days full. Hugh, my old course tutor asked if I could squeeze in another day at Shrewsbury. Suddenly I was a full time lecturer at three different sites.
This was far too much too soon. Having gone through the preparatory stages for Birmingham. I set off for my first day. A 7 mile cycle ride to the train station then an hour and a half journey spat me out at New Street. Heading toward Aston Triangle I became overwhelmed with anxiety. I managed a day or two but on the third I ducked in to a shop doorway. I saw the students en mass like worker ants returning to base, I just couldn't face it. Being one was easy and I thought back to all times I had tried to disrupt teachers at school, the pompous duels of intellect I had engaged in with lecturers and felt massive guilt. It isn't easy to stand at the front; I am no natural performer either. Having no plan of explanation I headed back to the station and set off home. Calling in and admitting my failure was hard. The doctor had no time for sympathy but a great enthusiasm for his product. He had a Lustral mug of tea, a Lustral clock on his wall and wrote out a prescription for Lustral with his Lustral pen. He also had the kindness to prescribe me some sleepers too. I was allotted a psychiatrist who worked under that days authordoxy of finding the right chemical to put your brain into place. This was ridiculous. It was clear what was wrong. My job.
I managed, through the use of these two drugs and a lot of alcohol and codeine to get through a year at the other two colleges. Depression follows anxiety and this year was hellish gloom. These days I wouldn't be phased by it but I was too young or too unconfident. The drugs I was prescribed and the drink meant I couldn't do my job well. Once that worm has got in it niggles away. I wish I could go back and do that year properly. I wasn't at my best and let down those students. I was used to being good at things. Deciding, with hindsight for the best I didn't continue my positions the following year and moved to Somerset to recover.
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