Brains, Balls & Politics

I woke up this morning (Sunday 7 th March) feeling well rested and happy, about a 2.5 on the depressedometer. Yet here I am some eight hours later having about an hour or so ago, slipped rapidly to a seven. I don’t know what triggered it, I seldom do, but the moment I felt the cloud descend, I knew I was in trouble. The symptom most prevalent today is my inability to physically speak without feeling even worse than I already do. It’s strange that I can eloquently string a sentence together in my head but uttering words seems almost impossible. I can’t quite describe it, but I feel like a balloon filled with water, once the water starts leaking (in my case, the words) what follows will be totally out of my control. Actually, that’s a much better way of summing this up, not speaking is currently my only form of control in a state of depression that is otherwise un-controllable. My urge to write this post is, I think, a response to the need I have to ‘spill’ but in a controlled and t...

I don’t know precisely how I generate the energy to work on the days I am depressed, never mind fulfil entirely my role as a senior leader, whilst meeting the needs of my employer, my team and my customer, but somehow, I do. An old friend and former colleague who is a HR professional and has a sound understanding of business psychology, suggested I write an entry which explores what it is like to be a depressive at work. A brilliant idea, I thought, but I’ve found myself really struggling to articulate what it is actually like and I’ve reached the conclusion that this is because my depression has played a key role in the career success I have enjoyed. I am not ashamed to admit that the majority of career opportunities awarded to me have been as a result of both dumb luck and being in the right place, at the right time. Depression has also contributed enormously to the person (in a professional capacity) I am today. The stigma associated with ill-mental health often drives employers...

I am often wrapped up in my own little world during a depressive episode. This isn’t by design, but the all-consuming nature of depression makes it hard to see past the slump one routinely finds themselves in when they score a five or above on the depressedometer (see previous post titled ‘Today I am a 4.’ for more info). Consequently, there is a routine failure by many depressives and those expressing an interest in or participating in a conversation about ill mental health, to forget the other people most impacted by this cruel disease. I speak of the many partners, wives, husbands, boyfriends and girlfriends, parents, close friends, siblings and extended family members of sufferers. During a bout of 03:00 AM insomnia last week, I spent about thirty seconds watching my fiancée, Holly, sleeping. As I observed her looking completely at peace, I couldn’t help but wonder ‘Wouldn’t her life be so much easier if I wasn’t around?’ . What prompted that relatively abominable thought was the...

  I have, on countless occasions, denied that what happened to me in early 2018 was a breakdown but that is exactly what is was. I’ve had several requests from friends and acquaintances asking me to share the specifics that both led to and were part of my 2018 crisis point. They tell me this will help them understand how depression can manifest itself when ignored and the warning signs that are associated. For the most part I believe them, though I can’t help but feel some simply see it as a ‘juicy read’ and I’m OK with that, because if a desire for something as such, results in them reading material which is likely to help them and others around them, who cares what their motivations, it is the means and the end result which matter. I’ll start at the beginning (whilst perpetually reminding myself of the need to exercise brevity). For as long as I can remember, I’ve always felt like I’m just not as good as everyone else and I cannot think of a entire week when I have not, at some...

There is no ladder which helps me escape the well of depression I experience, metaphorically speaking. But there are things which make it a little easier, things which allow me to identify an escape route in addition to medication and therapy. In this post, I want to set out some of the practical things I do to help me survive each depressive episode I experience in the hope that this may help others either directly, or to allow this to be passed on to any friends, family or colleagues readers may know to have depression. First thing’s first, there are some things which you should avoid saying to a depressive, particularly if they are in a depressive episode. I’m talking about the age-old clichés which have been floating around the vocabulary of society since long before I was even a glint in the milkman’s eye. One-liner’s which are often regurgitated with the best of intentions but can have a harmful impact on the psychological state of people like me, depressives. I actually have...

It is a common misconception that those of us who suffer with depression, experience it as if it were a cold or a headache, like an ailment that will at some point just ‘pass’ with the help of some Night Nurse and a hot water bottle, or in the case of mental illness, anti-depressants. The reality is though, depressives are always depressed, and the ‘condition’ never actually disappears, it is simply that the severity of the symptoms fluctuate constantly depending on several external factors and the sufferer’s ability to manage them. Each day, I measure the severity of my depression using a basic ‘one to ten’ scale (a tip I got from Alastair Campbell, former Downing Street Communications Director and avid mental health campaigner), the pinch points in my scale help me to establish how I am feeling and the steps I need to take in order to manage my mood at that point. For the purposes of explanation, I call this depressedometer (a little grim I know): 1 – Absolute contentment. 2 ...

I actually feel at peace saying those four words. It is a common misconception that people who suffer from depression don't like to talk about it and whilst this is often the case, it is also true that some of us actually enjoy discussing our mental ailments. Despite the satisfaction I get from talking about my suffering (the reasons for which I will share in a future post), I have one over-riding fear - that I won't be believed. Don't get me wrong, this post isn't a cry for help, those close to me are all aware that I am a depressive and that I have it, broadly speaking, under control (with the help of therapy and regular medication).  That I seek no help in making this statement or publishing this blog still does not eclipse the tummy-churning prospect of the inevitable response of some: "never had this depression crap back in my day" , "what's he got to be depressed about?" , "he looks pretty happy to me" , "Oh it's just ner...