How I fell to Everest’s peak

"It’s not the mountain we conquer but ourselves."

                                 Edmund Hillary

The world is ready for a change. It’s time for the deep-rooted stigma of mental illness to be broken down and dispelled. I believe the first step is raw honesty; we can do it one by one, step by step, story by story.

This is my story. It’s a journey of immense friendship, desperation, courage and heart-wrenching self-discovery. It’s about being pushed to the limit in every possible sense of the word; emotionally, physically, financially and psychologically. But in its essence, it’s about transformation; his and mine.

I’ve always been an ambitious person and have lived a very fortunate life. On the surface, my life appears rosy. Being only in my late 20's, I’m earning a high 6 figure salary and have been the youngest in my field. The world is my oyster, and yet for the last 6 months, I went through absolute hell.

Dragging myself out of bed to face the day ahead when all I wanted to do was pull the sheets over my head has been a daily routine. I’ve been putting on a strong corporate face each day. Inside my mind, I was wrestling with doubt and uncertainty.

One thing is for sure, I’ve discovered the true meaning of diving deep and pushing past personal fears, social taboos, and societal niceties. I have uncovered hidden strengths and resilience within myself. I fell to the peak of my Everest, picked up time and time again, blindly one step at a time.

As I sit here today, I can pinpoint that my journey along this pathway to self-discovery began in 2008 when I became friends with someone that I’m going to call “David” – name changed to protect privacy.

David was a corporate high flyer with a captivating personality. His life was on track and to all intents and purposes, he led a successful life that was the envy of many. But as I got to know David better, I learnt that he had fled to Australia to seek out a new life.

His crime? He was gay. His father had taken the news very badly, even subjecting him to unfathomable forms of “therapy”.

In 2011 came the news his father had a brain tumour. Despite suffering countless personal trials David made the decision to return home to South Africa be his father's carer. There was never any doubt in his mind that he was going to sacrifice the life he had built in Australia – even if I didn’t understand it at the time.

It was in this moment that I learnt the true meaning, and painful beauty, of sacrificing your happiness to care for another.

 There, in South Africa, David met the love of his life. Illness is a funny thing, his father had changed. So it was with his father’s blessing that David and his partner set about what was to be the very first gay wedding in his hometown. I was to be the best man.

Life appeared to be on an upward swing, but, in a cruel twist of fate, David’s father died just days prior to the wedding. This was an indescribable loss, knowing that David had only just earned his father’s acceptance and blessing. And yet David moved forward. The wedding proceeded and as his best man I was proud to watch my friend exchange his wedding vows. He had such strength.

Fast forward to 2014… My contact with David had become less and less over time and then one day when it seemed completely impossible to reach him, a voice inside me was telling me I needed to find him. Something was not right.

I spent three weeks searching for information. I got lucky.

“I thought no one was looking for me” were the first words David gasped through sobs when I finally found him.

Divorced. Alone. In prison.

He was a shadow of his former self. Gone was the charismatic and charming man I knew. In his place was a shadow; a tormented, vulnerable and broken human being.

I managed to get David back to Australia – he was not an Australian citizen so this took some doing, but, by some miracle, we managed.

I still remember waiting for him at the International Arrivals Gate, I was filled with anticipation and excitement which turned rapidly to shock. At first, I could not believe it was David. It took all my self-control not to cry out loud in dismay. The man walking towards me was just skin and bone having lost 20kgs. The hair on his head and body had been totally shaved to combat the lice and harsh condition of prison life. His eyes were deep pools of grief.

This was not the same man I had known for the last ten years. The friend I had travelled with around the world, the mate I shared a drink with down at the pub.

The important thing was that David was in Australia now, his life would soon be back on track. Or so I thought…..

As the days went by it seemed to me that David, who was now in his 30’s, was coping very well with the daunting task of rebuilding a life from nothing. It had its ups and downs, but generally, things were looking up.

What I did not realise was how skilful David was at putting on a brave face and hiding his daily struggles behind a fa?ade of normality. He had me fooled or, if I am totally honest, maybe I didn’t want to see what he was going through. I thought I had my best friend back and life was good.

The last 6 months.

In February this year, I was in a meeting in Sydney when I glanced down at my phone. I don’t usually look at my phone when I’m in a meeting, but for some reason, on this particular day I did. 

“I love you. Thank you. Goodbye.” My blood ran cold as I read the message. I’ll never forget, and I’ll never be able to describe.

David was taking a blade to his wrists and drinking a litre of bleach.

I really don’t know what anyone made of my behavior, as frozen, I excused myself. In an almost robotic state I called the police to attend his house.

Making a mad dash to the airport, I was inconsolable when I could not get on the first flight to Melbourne, but thanks to the wonderful Qantas staff I was on the next. It was the longest flight of my life and to this day, I am not quite sure how I managed to endure sitting in that airline seat without howling in pain and rage. I was a mess.

Although the help had arrived in time, David was gone. The person I knew lost.

David stopped working and began living on the street. Although he was homeless, that didn’t dampen my determination. We arranged to meet for lunch so we could plan a strategy for rebuilding his life, but he never showed.

After searching for 2 hours I received a text. It was from a beautiful young girl from Perth who was in Melbourne to visit family in hospital. She was approached by a stranger offering to sell an iPhone for $100. She clearly had a lot of courage, as she grabbed the phone threatening to scream for the police if he didn’t leave. Seeing my number as the last caller she rang me. Thank you.

It was at that moment, reading his phone number, that I realised how terrible things had become. The David I had known was lost. His fight, his drive, his passion were all gone. He was in a place that I could not reach.

I was entirely out of my depth.

It took five days to find David, or more accurately, he found me when he staggered, confused and barefoot into the reception at my office. Thankfully, our reception staff were on the ball and called me immediately. The message I received from our office manager, unaware of the actions to date, gave me the strength I needed to get through that day. It’s one day at a time. I’ll never forget that message.

David was at the height of a manic episode. I knew I was out of my depth. My friend needed serious help. It’s easy to not know where to turn or what services were available. I just started making phone calls searching for the answers and as I dialed, unsure of whether the person at the other end of the phone would even understand what I was saying. I had nowhere to turn for the help. I was wrong.

I will never have the words to express how heavy my heart felt as I organised to have David involuntarily committed to a mental hospital. The police, CAT, ambulance and hospital staff all deserve awards. I’m forever in their debt and grateful for their help and support in those desperate, desolate and lonely hours as I navigated the way for David to receive the care he so badly needed.

My life changed in that moment. It became consumed with meetings with doctors, lawyers, and his friends who I had to convince that there was something very wrong. Sourcing documents from South Africa compounded the challenge and added additional and expensive complications.

I became more than his friend. I became his guardian and had power of attorney. Daily phone calls to the hospital were my priority. Daily voicemails of calls I’d missed when in business meetings fed my constant feeling of failure.

Was I doing enough? Had I made the best decisions for David? And so on the nagging voices echoed relentlessly in my head. Feelings of inadequacy and being overwhelmed would arise unbidden to torment me.

The next three months were medical bills, plans, meetings with so many doctors and nurses, and the hardest part, the hearings that took place to fight for his health. 

I was different, I was exhausted, I was depressed. Everything I had accumulated in my life was ripped away. I struggled financially to pay all the bills. He was not an Australian citizen and had no private health care. My back was to the wall financially. I felt guilty feeling resentful of my situation, but I had mastered the art of losing my friend and only feared losing all I had left….my own mind. The stability I had once built from years of success was swept away in quick keystrokes.

Crying silently in the shower in frustration or melancholy became the norm for me as I staggered home exhausted each night, yet knowing that I had to get up and do it all over again the next day. Some of my friends dropped away, yet, at the same time, I received incredible support from the most unexpected quarters. And as a way of coping, I built a wall around myself, focusing on getting through each day, by day, by day.

Anyone who has had a mental illness or supported someone who has one knows that it is hell. Mental illness isn’t simple. Each year one in 5 Australians experience mental illness. You are not alone and you can get through it.

David would have profound moments of clarity where the colour would drain from his face in horror. These were the moments when he realised he could never break the cycle. Moments where he understood the strange behaviour changes, the perceptions of others and his own perception of himself. There were a number of days that he experienced happiness amongst the many days when all he could do was cry.

I shared these moments. I too managed to feel worthless, incapable, ridiculous, comic.

Some say that suicide is a path taken when an individual is in so much pain that they have nowhere else to turn. The pain has reached a point where it is unbearable. There is no other way out.

I say this, suicide is a form of murder. Premeditated murder.

It isn’t something you do the first time you think of doing it. It takes some getting used to. And you need the means, the opportunity, the motive.

A successful suicide demands good organisation and a cool head, both of which are usually incompatible with the suicidal state of mind.

This is mental illness. It’s not David. It is a disease requiring treatment and services available to help people in need and the people supporting them. My greatest life wish is that no one has to face what he has faced, what I have faced. What we are facing.

September 10th is World Suicide Prevention Day and every year, more than 800,000 people die by suicide and up to 25 times as many make a suicide attempt. Behind these statistics are the individual stories, stories like mine.

I’ve been lucky enough to have spent time traveling the world, studying in Germany, UK & Australia, amazing experiences, making inspirational friends, work opportunities and much more.

Although I have lost many things through my experiences with David, I have gained something priceless.

I have discovered the true meaning of friendship. I have learnt to be more empathetic, to think outside of the traditional square when dealing with people, to push through barriers and test strength in areas I never knew existed.

My experiences have made me a better communicator, a better person. 

Most importantly, the experiences have taught me that it’s okay to struggle when you’re helping someone.

Encouragement comes in many forms and often from where it is least expected. To all of those who have helped me in this journey, you know who you are, and how it means the world to me.

I share this story to encourage friends and colleagues to take the time to ask “Are you OK?” when you notice someone is not their usual self. To let those who are suffering know it’s OK to reach out for help.

My life is forever changed by the actions I took on the day David called to say goodbye. Today, I am a better person. Bruised, financially poorer but richer in all the ways that count.

Follow your feet. One step at a time, and you can climb any mountain, just as I did mine. The view from the top is priceless.