What follows is a blog entitled "Prozac and Speed" that I wrote in early December 2011 ... the first time I had ever openly revealed that I had a mental health condition. I still don't find it easy to read, because the memory of the night in question and the impact it had on those I love can still feel both real and raw; and it is a stark reminder of all those years when I felt it necessary to hide how much I struggled just getting through each day. But ... my life has changed for the better in so many ways since I wrote this. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done (the knowledge that a few lines of text will change people's perception and opinion of you is so scary), but it was also one of the best...
At the end of a week when the world of football (and beyond) has been paying tribute to Gary Speed, I would like to share a personal moment from these past seven days.
Recently, I’ve been suffering from several bouts of unexplained sadness. It’s difficult to describe, but I would liken it to my head being squeezed by a giant invisible hand until only negative emotions are left. I took a trip to the doctor who increased my antidepressant dosage in the hope (expectation, even) that my mood would stabilise.
In fact, the opposite happened. The good days were brilliant, but when the low came, it was horrible.
At 3am the following Thursday morning, I found myself alone in a Birmingham hotel room (for a work course), sobbing uncontrollably down the phone to Elaine. I wanted nothing but to catch the next train home from New Street to be with her. I couldn’t explain why the tears wouldn’t stop; let alone why they had started in the first place.
The descent was fast enough to be frightening, and the dark thoughts that filled my mind were so strong … and compelling. Thankfully, I somehow found the strength to call Elaine, but when the feelings eventually passed, the worst thing is the knowledge of the upset you have caused.
I am lucky that I have real (and metaphorical) shoulders to lean on. I also accept that, at the moment, I need medical support to get better.
Believe me, taking antidepressants is not something I’m proud of, but I’m not ashamed either. Acceptance is the first and biggest step on the road to recovery – and recover is what I intend to do, even though I realise there will be difficult days along the way …
I went back to the doctor’s surgery last Friday and it resulted in a chat with a different GP, one who was prepared to take the time to listen and not judge – and wasn’t willing to simply type out a prescription and shout, “Next!”
The outcome? We realised that the double dose of Prozac was almost certainly responsible for my emotional extremes. No wonder I felt so inconsolable on Wednesday. Knowing that the medication was partly to blame is a relief in itself, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty that others were affected by the state I was in.
Since then, my dosage has been halved again and I’ve been given some helpful lifestyle advice, so I see no reason why I shouldn’t emerge from this difficult period very soon and get back to being my normal, grumpy, miserable self!
I have absolutely no idea what demons drove Gary Speed to take his own life. Was his suicide a coward’s way out? Some will say so, but I don’t agree. I have a small understanding of the power of the mind. Many never experience those kinds of dark thoughts. Others can fight them off, but a few find them almost impossible to ignore.
Gary Speed’s circumstances are none of my business, but I salute him as a proud and brave man – in life and in death. I sincerely hope that his family and closest friends find a way of dealing with the unimaginable sadness of the whole situation.
So, I dedicate this blog to the memory of the late Gary Speed, and to those whose love and support mean so much.
At the end of a week when the world of football (and beyond) has been paying tribute to Gary Speed, I would like to share a personal moment from these past seven days.
Recently, I’ve been suffering from several bouts of unexplained sadness. It’s difficult to describe, but I would liken it to my head being squeezed by a giant invisible hand until only negative emotions are left. I took a trip to the doctor who increased my antidepressant dosage in the hope (expectation, even) that my mood would stabilise.
In fact, the opposite happened. The good days were brilliant, but when the low came, it was horrible.
At 3am the following Thursday morning, I found myself alone in a Birmingham hotel room (for a work course), sobbing uncontrollably down the phone to Elaine. I wanted nothing but to catch the next train home from New Street to be with her. I couldn’t explain why the tears wouldn’t stop; let alone why they had started in the first place.
The descent was fast enough to be frightening, and the dark thoughts that filled my mind were so strong … and compelling. Thankfully, I somehow found the strength to call Elaine, but when the feelings eventually passed, the worst thing is the knowledge of the upset you have caused.
I am lucky that I have real (and metaphorical) shoulders to lean on. I also accept that, at the moment, I need medical support to get better.
Believe me, taking antidepressants is not something I’m proud of, but I’m not ashamed either. Acceptance is the first and biggest step on the road to recovery – and recover is what I intend to do, even though I realise there will be difficult days along the way …
I went back to the doctor’s surgery last Friday and it resulted in a chat with a different GP, one who was prepared to take the time to listen and not judge – and wasn’t willing to simply type out a prescription and shout, “Next!”
The outcome? We realised that the double dose of Prozac was almost certainly responsible for my emotional extremes. No wonder I felt so inconsolable on Wednesday. Knowing that the medication was partly to blame is a relief in itself, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling guilty that others were affected by the state I was in.
Since then, my dosage has been halved again and I’ve been given some helpful lifestyle advice, so I see no reason why I shouldn’t emerge from this difficult period very soon and get back to being my normal, grumpy, miserable self!
I have absolutely no idea what demons drove Gary Speed to take his own life. Was his suicide a coward’s way out? Some will say so, but I don’t agree. I have a small understanding of the power of the mind. Many never experience those kinds of dark thoughts. Others can fight them off, but a few find them almost impossible to ignore.
Gary Speed’s circumstances are none of my business, but I salute him as a proud and brave man – in life and in death. I sincerely hope that his family and closest friends find a way of dealing with the unimaginable sadness of the whole situation.
So, I dedicate this blog to the memory of the late Gary Speed, and to those whose love and support mean so much.