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Stories Submitted thoughts and stories The Dark Illness of Perception
Stories Submitted thoughts and stories The Dark Illness of Perception
The Dark Illness of Perception |
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alcohol | depression | hospital | male | medication | peer support (informal) and befriending | professional | statutory mental health services (-) | suicide | support from family | support from mental health professionals | taking control | walled garden
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Author: Alan Muir Published: 12 April 2010 In his account of his life changing recovery from depression, Alan speaks of the support he has received from family, friends and professionals, and touches on his own desire to change career from law to one where he can help others who are experiencing mental health problems. Whatever you call it – the ‘Black Dog’, ‘Fog’ etc, my experience of clinical depression is of a living hell, a night without any dawn breaking. It is potentially fatal. I call it ’The Bottle Dungeon’. Why? As a child, the annual holiday was often in St. Andrews. In the town there is an ancient underground cell, shaped like a bottle, with a single entry/exit point through a narrow neck. On our visits, I would imagine the tormented, wretched occupants crawling up the walls towards the light (and freedom), only to learn that the walls worked against them as they climbed, sapping what little energy they had, and leaving even less for the next futile, desperate attempt. Each day I tried to crawl out of depression I fell back in the same way. Why bother? It would only return anyway. One definition of insanity is the repetition of the same action expecting a different result - wasn’t I just sinking further into insanity each time? The debates with the ‘internal bully’ were, frankly, ‘nae a fair fight’. What right did I have to be depressed? In late 2002 I was an Advocate, busy, a recovered alcoholic 5 years sober ( 11+ years at the time of writing thanks to many people!), and popular (I kept being told!). Clearly it was my fault. Had someone else related their history as mine, I’d have seen a debilitating illness needing support and treatment. In me however, it was a fault, a failing, an error, something else to use to beat myself up. I had read, but forgotten, the words of The Talmud, quoted in Elizabeth Wurtzel’s Prozac Nation: “We do not see things as they are, we see them as WE are”. That is why I also call this the illness of perception. Take a calculator, move 4 to 7, 3 to 8, 2 to 6 – now try for an accurate calculation - see? In my illness, the number buttons have been jumbled just like that for some reason and ‘reason’ is the first thing to go. Eventually, in April 2003, I tried to hang myself, just to end the torture, to punish God and get peace. I remember thinking: “Right God, if this is the life you’ve planned for me, you can f—in’ have it back - you backed the wrong horse, infallible my arse!” The cord snapped, and I beat myself up about yet another failure. I (re)made and (re)drank my last coffee, (re)had a last fag and (re)washed and dried the cup, saucer and ashtray - no mess to be left! (a body didn’t seem to feature in my thinking). The cord (re)snapped! The toss of a coin led me to call the Murray Royal in Perth rather than go to Homebase for more rope. I was admitted, examined, and, Yeeha !! - a consultant who agreed: what right did I have to be depressed? I was simply avoiding my problems, time to straighten up and fly right - clearly! She equated obtaining a Law Degree and career with losing the ‘right’ to mental illness. Her discovery that I had written a guidebook to the 1984 Mental Health (Scotland) Act sealed my fate I think. Two weeks later I was turfed out, with no CPN or support, with pills in hand. There followed three nightmare years and a further admission, although, to a wholly different atmosphere and ethos. I could write a book (I might yet) on that stay as a ‘user’, - God knows which eejit thought up that supposedly PC, less offensive term! This time, though, the consultant was amazing, a real credit to his profession and his help, guidance and gentle cajoling brought me into the light. The nursing, auxiliary and cleaning staff couldn’t have been of greater support - not soft, but wonderful people. Dr. C treated patients as I did clients and court staff - we all had a contribution to make. I am truly humbled to have met them and the fellow patients who helped, each in their own way, and some now gone before their time. In the Murray Royal grounds sits The Walled Garden (café) – a sanctuary. If you are in the area it is well worth visiting. It served as the third massive hurdle cleared by two of us, the first was the door of the ward, the second the hospital shop 50 or so yards from the ward. Bonds are made quickly and deeply in hospital, similar to prison (I’m told!). Three of us spent hours there, simply sharing – a massive factor in recovery. If you talk about it, it can’t fester in your head in the same way. Three years on I have come to accept the anti-depressants in the same way a diabetic does insulin, albeit in my case, I still test the ‘I must be alright by now’ theory. I now hope to work in the area of helping others who are facing up to similar demons - many not mentioned here. To hear someone say, “I know how you feel, it WILL change” and see in their eyes that they actually do know, is often a huge step towards that light. It was for me. I now know what hell they had come through to earn the right to say it with disarming sincerity. To my father and my sister, no words can adequately thank them. Their reward is seeing me grow - even if it’s two steps forward and one back a lot of the time. Some days I get reminders of what hell was like. I need them, to remind me I’m not cured. I am, like so many of us, on a journey that has its own turns, lay-bys, and the occasional puncture! A good friend hit me between the eyes about suicide during a visit. “You’ll always have that option - the simple fact is that we all do BUT if you take it, you’ll never have another. Some time ago you would not have accepted you’d feel like this BUT it happened. So you now have to accept that sometime in the future you WILL feel differently - that your life is worth the living”. Thankfully I heard as well as listened, and my life is now worth living, changed in ways I could never have imagined and would never have planned. There’s a new route map, one that includes the views, support and honest criticism of others I love and trust. I thank everyone who was and is there for me. If you’d like to share your thoughts or experiences of recovery then contact us on This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it or 0141 240 7790 to discuss. Click here to go back to previous page |
Story Tags
activism community/socialising/inclusion coping strategies creativity depression employment (+) exercise female hospital male medication medication (-) peer support (informal) and befriending seeing things differently self knowledge/learning/growth self management sense of self support from family support from friends support from mental health professionals supportive spouse/partner taking control talking therapies voluntary mental health services volunteering Story disclaimer
The stories presented here are for information only. They are meant to inspire hope and show that recovery can and does happen. The stories highlight various examples of recovery and we do not advocate any of these experiences as the ‘right’ way to recover. Recovery is an individual and unique process, each person must decide for himself or herself what will work for them. Please carefully consider any decisions you make about your own recovery and consult with someone you trust if you feel unsure. See our Submit Your Thoughts pages for details on how to submit a story to us or you can contact us.
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