David Robert Magill

June is #MensMentalHealthMonth. This year I have spent time off work due to depression and anxiety. I haven't really told many people. This seems like a good month to talk about it. This isn't my first experience of a collapse in my mental wellbeing. I wrote a book about it last time. This seems like a good month to give it away as posts on here. The book used to cost ￡7.99 but you can have it for free as it was written to help people. If you do feel it is helpful and have a few quid to share please go to paperboatcharity.org/donate and support some of India's most vulnerable children.

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David Robert Magill

That’s me. David Robert Magill. It’s been on bank cards and business cards, office doors and educational certificates; David Robert Magill. Me. Those letters on their own are meaningless but, if the world was a solid-state drive or a Bruce-Almighty-sized God’s filing cabinet, my life would be filed under David Robert Magill.

My name is the label that connects everything that I’ve ever encountered or thought or said or done. Every one of my achievements rests underneath those 17 letters, marked into the report card of my life. I am the common denominator in every moment of joy and every moment of pain. The fragments of my existence are bound up in my name, they are the story of who I am, held together by my life.

When people hear my name some will be filled with, pride (Hello, Mum, and Dad). Others will hear my name and remember the times I let them down, they’ll be angry at a slight or pain for which I am responsible. Others will think of me as an ex, or an almost-boyfriend, some of them with a ‘what if?’ and others with a ‘thank God.’ My name, heard by every person I know or have known, will bring a mix of opinions and memories based on very few or very many moments we shared together. I am all these things at once, based upon the person I was in the moments I spent with people.?

My name, our names, are loaded with meaning, much more than any word in any language. Our names tell stories to those who hear them spoken, and most importantly they tell stories to ourselves. It’s those stories that I’m writing about in this book. The narratives, which we weave together from the events of our lives, are how we define ourselves. We are responsible for every scene, every plotline and we control all of the dialogue. Every voice in these stories is our own voice, at times repeating what we have heard, sometimes with exact precision, other times with embellished or blemished details that change their meaning in our lives.?

What are the stories that we tell ourselves about who we are? Which voices are speaking the story of our name, of our identity, and why are we listening to them? Are they good for us or are they slowly tearing us apart?

For the last few years, and most probably much longer than that, I’ve been fighting with my own mind. I was diagnosed with severe stress and anxiety in September 2016 and have since been on various treatments, both therapy, and medication. I am sure that my diagnosis could have been the same at least a decade earlier. In retrospect, the symptoms were all there but in my mid to late twenties, I still had enough distraction or vigour or luck to keep going.? I was able to mask the battle that was happening in my head and continue to make my way through life. At 36, however, the wheels came off,? and my ability to suffer any longer reached zero. My body could no longer sustain itself as the storm within my brain raged. My health began to collapse as my body began to manifest the effects of anxiety, stress, depression, and the exhaustion of battling all three.?

I had been fighting for a worthy cause, my own self-worth, but I was fighting alone and with the wrong weaponry. I was never going to win on my own with the tools available to me, at best I might hold my ground from time to time. Finally, exhausted, I surrendered to my own demands and admitted the truth. I was ill, I was mentally ill, and I needed help.? I needed it to come quickly.

It’s been hard to admit that to myself. It’s been hard to admit that I’m mentally ill, haunted by my own thoughts, and kept level by medication. I’d painted a picture of myself in my head as someone for whom that kind of thing could never be possible. I was a strong and brave man, rarely intimidated by any situation, and able to keep a cool head under pressure. I had created the persona of a laid-back, happy-go-lucky guy who could deal with anything thrown at him with great poise and wisdom.?

It was hard to admit that I regularly (and less regularly now) could feel my body slip into the symptoms of panic as my mind fell silent, refusing to bring calm or solution to the moment. As my body tensed up, my chest tightened, my breath turning shallower as my heart raced, my mind felt like it was on mute. I was panicking but I was silent, it was like an out-of-body experience. At times I felt like I was dying at the same time as being completely still.

It was hard to admit that I was throwing up before the most innocuous of occasions and that often my chest felt so tight that I was sure that my lungs were being crushed between my ribs. Every day for a year, I wretched on my knees in the bathroom before walking to work. Anxiety had found a home in my mind and it was getting worse. It was hard to admit it but it was the truth.

I was hiding all of this from everyone as best I could. The effort of suffering in secret made things worse. On top of being anxious about work, failing as a father, never feeling like there would be enough money, how I was viewed, my health, and the unexplained sense of dread that was a constant background noise to my day, I was now anxious about how I could hide my symptoms. I was managing mental illness at the same time as managing a cover-up. It was exhausting.?

Anxiety will probably be a part of my life until my last day.. I have made choices to do things that minimise its impact, but there are days, (like today) that I feel like my body is fizzing, my mind can’t find a second of stillness and I am driven by an urge?to scream. I find myself caught in a loop of imagining and dismantling imminent catastrophes. On days like this one, the unexplained sense of dread is no longer a low background hum, it thuds in my head like a bass drum.? There are days, like today, that I’m afraid for no reason that I can name, but worry has rested heavily on my shoulders since I woke up at 6:25 am. I am tense and I am tetchy. I wish I could rest.

When I was told by my GP that I was mentally ill, I decided to live my illness in public. My first reaction to being told that I was ill was shame, then denial, then retreat. I slept for a long time. I slept the majority of every day for three weeks. I’d exhausted myself, fighting with my own brain rather than fighting for it. I was empty. After those three weeks, I decided to be public about what I suffer, and suffer is not too strong a word. If I was initially ashamed it was because of, a real or imagined, societal stigma about mental illness had found this way into my beliefs. I had absorbed the idea that those who need help with their minds are weak snowflakes, unable to cope with the real world. The truth, of course, is that being able to function at all in this world whilst being plagued by one’s own mind is incredibly strong and brave. I thought that perhaps my story could stop someone else feeling the shame that I did. The feeling of not being alone in our pain, or that someone else knows how it feels, can give us a much-needed boost to keep fighting.

That’s why I am sharing these posts that once were the chapters of a book. I don’t know if there will be solutions for things, but I will share the things I’ve found helpful, but what I do know is that if you’ve suffered some of the things that I suffer that you will feel seen. You will feel less alone because you’ll know someone else hasn’t just been there, but are probably there right now. I know this will happen because that’s been my experience with those who live their pain in public, the reading helps me.

Remember I am not and neither are you the first, nor last to walk this trail, and I don’t walk it alone.

There are many voices that echo in my mind, and I assume the minds of other people, that are destructive to our mental health. Voices of shame, expectation, and disappointment that haunt us in our most quiet moments. There are memories of loss or feelings of inadequacy that rob us of moments of joy as we move through the world. Sometimes these voices shout loudly over any other voices and sometimes they are still and quiet but no less destructive.

I realised about a year ago that every voice in my head that tells me I’m less or that I should be afraid is actually my own voice. Every negative word that my mind speaks over my identity is spoken by me. Sure, I may be borrowing the words of others who have criticised or abused me, but the continual speaking of those words over my life is from my own consciousness. I am the one speaking in the voices that haunt me the most.

It follows that if I, albeit subconsciously, am bringing these thoughts to my mind that I can also silence them or react to them with other thoughts that speak positivity and hope. I am not responsible for what enters my mind but I can take responsibility for how I respond to those thoughts. I can work to train my mind to respond with hopeful truth to every negative thought I have about myself.

Haunted may feel like a strong word. I realise that it feels like an exaggeration but late at night when my mind is filled with shame or fear, or when I fail to make a decision because I am anxious about the outcomes, I feel haunted by my own mind. The hardest part of this haunting is that I know that the circular thoughts and rabbit warrens are bad for my health, yet they feel true and somehow alluring at the time. Negative and self-critical thinking has a strangely addictive quality. The words they speak draw me towards the rocks like Siren song, serenading Jason, and his Argonauts in an attempt to lead him to destruction. I must then, paint myself as Orpheus and find a louder, more beautiful song that keeps me moving forward; a song that speaks uplifting truth to my mind and saves me from the rocks.?

I hope you find these posts helpful in some way. I’ve tried to keep them short for two reasons. When my anxiety is bad I find reading difficult and exhausting. I also hate books that are long for no reason. I hope it’s an easy read.

I hope it isn’t too heavy and that there are laughs amongst the solemnity. I hope, that in reading of my battle with my own mind, you feel less alone in your own battles. I hope you feel solidarity and comfort in knowing that change is possible. I hope you find a louder and more beautiful song. I hope that one day we can all find peace.

Please comment, like and share this as it might cause it to appear in someone's timeline who needs to read it.

If you recognise that you, like me, need help speak to your GP or call one of these numbers:

SANEline

If you're experiencing a mental health problem or supporting someone else, you can call SANEline on 0300 304 7000 (4.30pm–10pm every day).

National Suicide Prevention Helpline UK

Offers a supportive listening service to anyone with thoughts of suicide. You can call the National Suicide Prevention Helpline UK on 0800 689 5652 (6pm to midnight every day).

Campaign Against Living Miserably (CALM)?

You can call the CALM on 0800 58 58 58 (5pm–midnight every day) if you're affected by suicide or suicidal thoughts. Or if you prefer not to speak on the phone, you could try the CALM webchat service.

Shout?

If you would?prefer not to talk but want some mental health support, you could text SHOUT to 85258. Shout offers a confidential 24/7 text service providing support if you are in crisis and need immediate help.

Papyrus HOPELINEUK

If you're under 35 and struggling with suicidal feelings, or concerned about a young person who might be struggling, you can call Papyrus HOPELINEUK on 0800 068 4141 (24 hours, 7 days a week), email [email protected] or text 07786 209 697.

Nightline?

If you're a student, you can look on the Nightline website to see if your university or college offers a night-time listening service. Nightline phone operators are all students too.

Switchboard?

If you identify as gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender, you can call Switchboard on 0300 330 0630 (10am–10pm every day), email [email protected] or use their webchat service. Phone operators all identify as LGBT+.

C.A.L.L.

If you live in Wales, you can call the Community Advice and Listening Line (C.A.L.L.) on 0800 132 737 (open 24/7) or you can text 'help' followed by a question to 81066.