I have been heartened by the coverage on national telly of the current state of awareness of mental health in the UK, this week. Not because it looks like we’re winning the battle. Far from it. Simply because what the Beeb have done has made people talk about it. I was in a pub on Wednesday and two people were discussing the previous night’s news bulletin. They both had informed opinions, and neither of them used the terms ‘loony’, mentalist’ or ‘nutter’.
I realise that this is a tiny, weeny victory. I’m not stupid. Just bi-polar.
In other news, this week has been dark, long and never-ending. The black dog has come around, and has been sniffing round my ankles. I have tried so hard to shake him off, but he is a persistent fucker.
So, I am posting this song for two reasons. One, because MK is a beautiful, troubled genius.
And, two, because it lifts my spirits. For a few moments, when I play it, it helps.
Music needs no better reason to exist.
Moose the Mooche says
At a national level the tide seems to be turning at long last. Even if only at the level of awareness.
That fucking dog does seem to get about a bit. Good luck with him niall.
Junior Wells says
good luck there are a lot of us with that hound sniffing round. Go for some long walks -always helps.
Saw SKM a couple of years ago -strangest gig I’ve ever been to.
Johnny Concheroo says
Some sound advice here:
http://i.imgur.com/FX7DoHm.jpg
H.P. Saucecraft says
Dogs can be trained. Even black ones.
retropath2 says
True, but it isn’t easy with a pack of ’em baying at your heels. But true.
Jeff says
Good post Niall.
JustB says
Was reading an interesting blog by a clinical psychologist about this earlier. It’s here:
https://blogs.canterbury.ac.uk/discursive/all-in-the-brain/
And here’s an extract:
“Conventional psychiatry tends to decontextualise psychiatric disorders, seeing them as discrete brain conditions that are largely genetically determined and barely influenced by the slings and arrows of misfortune… According to this ‘brain conditions’ view, psychiatric disorders occur largely out of the blue in individuals who are genetically vulnerable, and the only appropriate response is to find the right medication. Even then, it is usually assumed that severe mental illnesses are life long conditions that can only be managed by continuous treatment. However, research into severe mental illness conducted over the last twenty years (not only by me, although I have contributed) tells a more complex story.
…
Longitudinal research suggests that a surprising number of people manage to make full or partial recoveries[5], even when not taking medication. A complication is that recovery means different things for different people; whereas psychiatrists typically think of recovery in terms of recovery from symptoms, patients more often emphasise the importance of self-esteem, hope for the future, and a valued role in society[6].”
I have weekly therapy, and over the months since I began it, I’ve become increasingly reluctant to accept the idea of a lifelong “condition” (backstory: after a difficult period of time a while back, I went to the quack and came away with a diagnosis of a thing. They cheerily put me on some pills, which I’ve now not taken for about 2 years – they made me feel blunted and beige and did nothing to address causes).
What I’ve learned over months of therapy is that my ups and downs of mood are inextricably linked to certain “truths” about myself which I internalised a long time ago and which are largely not accurate. I’ve come to see my ups and downs much more in the context of things which happened to me in childhood, and which I stand a decent chance of challenging. I therefore get a bit refusenik about labels like “depression” or “mania” (the latter hasn’t been an issue for ages, and I find it’s a lot truer to describe “episodes” in the past as periods of reckless acting out against my various beliefs about myself).
In short, I get sad sometimes and it can seem as if there’s no particular reason for it. What therapy has brought to my understanding of the situation is that there ARE reasons: they’re just not right-now, conscious reasons. They’re things which affected me a long time ago and which are intertwined with the fabric of my personality in a fairly complex but not necessarily intractable way.
But it’s not a lifelong curse that I have to live with. It’s not “the black dog”: something coming at me from outside, a mere freak of brain chemistry, the mental health equivalent of the common cold virus. I can unpick those threads, to an extent, by trying to understand where they came from.
I’ve also come to realise that – for reasons I won’t get into – I’ve spent much of my adult life refusing the validity of my feelings and privileging reason and logic over them. As a result, it’s difficult for me to acknowledge a lot of powerful emotions, even (especially?) to myself, without qualifying or apologising for them (and that is often what causes me to feel what we might simplistically call “depression”: bottling shit up is BAD, it turns out. Who knew?)
My therapist has started to crack that shell, and what we’re discovering is revelatory (at least for me).
I suppose the worst part of all this, from a societal standpoint, is that I could only make these discoveries because I can afford to. I self-referred, privately, after feeling very reluctant to see the doctor and get the automatic SSRIs (because just try getting talking therapies over the longer term on the NHS at this point). I have the money. People who don’t are markedly less likely to be able to access help like I’ve got.
JustB says
TL;DR version: what HP said.
H.P. Saucecraft says
I was diagnosed as seriously depressed about, ooh, nearly twenty years ago. As they’d just unstrapped me from a bed in the nutter’s ward (where I “came to”) this was no real surpise to me. They also very diligently noted my emaciated form, and I could hardly find anything to disagree with there either. They wore white coats and their words had more weight than I did. They released me on a promise I wasn’t going to harm myself, and gave me a going-away gift of beautifully packaged pharmaceuticals. On a whim – my life was subject to those at the time – I threw them into the river, deciding I needed to know exactly how depressed I was if I was going to cheer up to the point where I could bear to live with myself. If “depression” had any kind of semi-autonomous existence within me – like a cancer – I need to see it clearly in order to deal with it.
Next thing was, not trying. Not trying to deal with whatever it was, not trying to control or repress or release or treat or even understand it. “It” being depression, which is just a word, and not a very helpful one.
The Black Dog is a subtle, wily beast. It thrives on attention, gets strength from self-pity. I learned to be aware of it, moving it slightly to the periphery, so I was seeing it almost from the corner of my eye. Not feeding it. I stopped talking about “my depression”, stopped thinking about it. Occupied myself otherly (learning to be patient and watchful and quiet) while it turned into a shadow and eventually died, from hunger, from want of love. Like a real dog.
If you have the Black Dog, teach it its place. Don’t love it, don’t hate it, and above all don’t feed it with feeling sorry for yourself, or talking about it to others, because it basks in the attention.
Your mileage may differ.
JustB says
I agree with a lot of that. The thing I like about the integrated psychotherapy bizniz that my therapist does, is that it’s all about *not* wallowing. It’s trying to find out what are the feelings underneath the feelings, and trying to understand where those ur-feelings come from and how we might find a way to neutralise their threat.
This suits me, as I tend to be a “let’s just bloody crack on” type. It feels practical: it feels simply as if I’m untangling a lot of snarled-up yarn that was wrapped around my ankles, and starting to be able to walk a bit more freely. The stuff is still attached, I’m still trailing it around and probably always will, but it’s gradually becoming less of a handicap.
Rob C says
Quite a few year ago I went through a particularly bad period in my life and the doc put me on happy pills – they did nothing but turn me into a numb emotionless zombie. No healing. I stopped taking them after a couple of weeks and let time and nature take its course. Personally speaking, I would n’t recommend them ( not referring to medication re a specific mental health condtion per se of course).
Rob C says
Good for you and some excellent points made. Emotional trauma in early life so often results in internalisation and cycles of unjustified self blame and self recrimination, even loathing at times. It’s very hard to break the pattern, but with effort and patience and whatever means are appropriate for the individual, self acceptance and forgiveness for oneself and others can begin. It’s the beginning of the Healing Journey.
Rob C says
The above was in reply to Bob, and this one’s for you Nial.
Om Shanti
JustB says
Thanks, Rob.
You might be interested/possibly amused (given my formerly pretty dogmatic logic/reason bent) to know that I’m currently reading the excellent “Buddhism Without Beliefs” by Stephen Batchelor. He’s a full-on Buddhist who sees it not as a religion but as a series of pragmatic calls to action. I’m enjoying it so far, but slightly apprehensive that he’s trying to get me to believe in the supernatural by stealth (which won’t be happening, despite my acceptance that reason doesn’t get you everywhere!)
Rob C says
No problem. That’s a good read, and he does emphasis more on practical psychology/philosophy rather than dogma. Buddhism can be beautifully simple like Zen ( I would imagine more you kind of thing, along with Taoist thought) or full on Mahayana eg Tibetan, which is almost like a Buddhist Catholicism – huge emphasis on things ‘supernatural’.
I do mantra meditation. Works for me, as do some affirmation exercises. I like to think we’re all on a healing journey one way or another – a journey home, and if we can sometimes help each other along the way, that’s a wonderful thing.
Junior Wells says
Not wallowing….
When in a place for few weeks I asked the shrink “if I feel like being depressed ,does this mean I’m depressed?”
He said it was a good question but alas he lacked a good answer.
DogFacedBoy says
Whatever gets you through works.
Whether it be fighting the black dog, being righteous on your own depression, labels or not, meds or not, no religion, no confession, reality or irrational. Talk it out, blog it out or psychological examination. There is no wrong or right way to approach these things that covers us all.
The populous may appear to be more accepting of mental illness but decent care still is mostly in the reach of those who can afford to pay for it. The current cuts are making it worse, regardless of the sop recently given in funding and driving people to suicide and further psychosis.
ewenmac says
Spot on. There’s no one cause (or solution) that fits all; some people have wonky brain chemicals and some have problems as a result of childhood trauma and some have a bit of both (or maybe something else?). Whatever works for you, works for you.
H.P. Saucecraft says
Your mileage will differ.
ip33 says
The wonderful Den of Geek have been doing a series on this and related subjects over the last few months.
http://www.denofgeek.com/other/geeks-vs-loneliness/39012/geeks-vs-loneliness-it-s-okay-to-not-be-okay
(other topics are linked at the bottom of the main text)
ip33 says
Sorry here’s a better link http://www.denofgeek.com/geeks-vs-loneliness
All the topics listed on a few pages.
kalamo says
It is a relief that attitudes are beginning to change, and that what once was hidden from view is now openly discussed.
Sitheref2409 says
I think there is more awareness about mental health; I’m not sure that this translates to tolerance and understanding. I hope I’m wrong.
I’ve been lucky over the last 13 years to work with some incredible people, folk who became friends as well as colleagues and bosses. I had no problem telling them about my struggles and I still do, even though we don’t work with each other any more.
Depression can be a bit of a bastard, and trying to describe it can be difficult. Putting something that seems to occupy your body and your mind into words is like describing green to a Daltonism sufferer.
Sure, “everything feels grey” “it’s like trying to think through treacle” get used, but it doesn’t cover the all encompassing sheer badness of the experience, like it’s sunk deep in your pores. How do you do justice to the moments when you have a quite rational conversation in your head about pros and cons of suicide, or to the idea that you need to escape except you don’t know to what or from what?
As I said, it’s a bit of a bastard.