This is how it was for me:
At the age of around 7 -10 I was taken to a child psychiatrist, I
think because I was not at all sociable. At 19 I was at university
doing a degree in applied physics and failing miserably, I was put on
Amytriptyline which made me stop worrying about those silly exams so I
dropped out and took a career in local government. At 42 I had
achieved some success, I had a staff of 9 and a budget of £2m/year,
but I was working 70 hours a week and not coping so they made me
redundant. I think that sowed the seeds of the breakdown I had aged
48 - after redundancy I had had to take a job at a basic level, and
with difficulties in my marriage and unreasonable demands by my
employers I had the Big One.
Before that, aged 46, I became tearful at work whilst being
disciplined and was sent to see my doctor, who laid me off work (he
put stress depression on my sick note) and put me on Prozac. It
sounds incredible but I had not realized that I was suffering from
depression - I was too close to it. I went back to work after 6 weeks
and stayed on Prozac for sixteen months, when I gave it up because I
was feeling better. I had done it! I had beaten the beast of
depression!!! Six weeks later I had a kind of nervous collapse so I
went back to the doctor and was put on Molipaxin. No-one told me that
Molipaxin can make you impotent - modern AD’s are not supposed to have
side-effects - but that is what it did and this put additional
pressure on me. If you haven’t experienced it, the inability to
satisfy your partner, you can’t understand. My wife thought I had
gone off her, I was bent double with sexual frustration (occasionally
I managed to satisfy myself but it took 40 minutes) and my self-esteem
was reduced to zero. At the same time my job was undoable, 3 of my 4
kids were being difficult. The kids were a constant cause of
disagreements with my wife, I was always a weak father and too soft,
while she was too hard on them. Then one of the kids crashed a
friend’s car and wrote off that and two others, which I paid for by
cashing in a chunk of my life savings. My wife was sleeping in my
daughter’s room. Over the next year I had times off work with
depression but my doctor put other things on my sick notes, including
back pain.
During this period I contemplated suicide many times. My state of
mind was that I could not get out of the situation I was in, either at
work or at home and I had heard that the death of a parent is less
harmful to kids than a marriage break-up. I would make it look like
an accident. I just wanted a trigger.
My head of department told me he was going put me on a disciplinary
which would lead to a final written warning. That meant total failure
to me. That evening I drove to a car park near the river intending to
park my car and jump in - I wanted to be carried out to sea. But
there was a Samaritans office nearby and I went there instead: they
saved my life. I’ve visited them a few times since.
This is how it happened on 17 July 1997: I had had four weeks off
sick, coming back to work on a Monday. The following Wednesday I was
working late and stopped briefly to chat to a colleague. My boss (
who was working late to check up on me) told me to get on with some
work. I suddenly flipped. I threw all the things from my desk onto
the floor and stormed out. Then a student (and friend) came after me,
and caught me on the landing, where I was standing because I had
realized I had left my wallet and jacket behind. I asked him to get
it for me, but instead my boss came after me and the two of them
persuaded me into an interview room. I can remember a few of the
things I said but won’t repeat them. I tried to open the window (we
were on the 3rd floor so I didn’t expect it to open) and was surprised
when it did. I think I remember the student saying ‘Jesus!’ when I
tried to climb out, then they grabbed me and dragged me in. A
secretary was outside the room and I remember her calling to me ‘Alan,
don’t, please don’t’. I think my boss asked her to call the police.
After a while I got away from them and made a second, more determined
effort to jump out of the window but they pulled me in again. The
second time, I know I would have jumped out, fallen 3 floors onto
concrete and my family would have had to live with that for the rest
of their lives. I know from other cases that children of suicides are
more likely to kill themselves
I was taken to a police station and after a few hours a doctor saw me.
I was sent to a mental hospital for my own protection. I will never
forget the time I spent in the cells. My wife drove 50 miles to see
me, and the car broke down on the way, so she was a long time coming.
She asked ‘why didn’t you tell me?’ and I couldn’t reply - but the
answer would have been ‘because you were part of the problem’. I was
transferred to another mental hospital closer to home, and spent 3
months there - it was wonderful, you could be your real weak pathetic
self and everyone understood. I made friends there, but lost touch
after I was discharged. One girl I will never forget. She was almost
young enough to be my daughter, but somehow we got on so well. I
loved her - I still do. She was the first ‘cutter ‘ I ever knew, she
used to cut her thighs and wrists and I couldn’t understand. No, we
were never physical, I couldn’t take advantage, but we would walk and
talk and I would sing to her, and she sent me a sketch she had done of
herself (but I had to throw it away for my wife’s sake).
After I was discharged (before I thought I was ready) I gradually,
over five years, got back to my old energy levels. I could never go
back to my old stressful job, but for years I had worked Saturdays
doing building work and I built that up to a full time job.
Self-employed, of course, I could never work for anyone else. I have
been incredibly lucky in my friends: two friends I have known for
years have recommended me to all their friends and I have never been
short of work.
And now, age 54: I still suffer from depression. Sometimes it all
crashes down on me, sometimes for no apparent reason, and yet I have
to keep going. My marriage is still together, my wife and I have to
work hard at it but we manage somehow. The sex never fully recovered
- it seems that self-esteem is important. After the hospital I never
got much support and now my doctor doesn’t believe that I am depressed
- if only he could see inside my head, and understand the terrible
urge that keeps recurring to go out and kill myself. I am still on
the trazedone they put me on in the hospital, but I hate the
side-effects (mostly nausea and dizziness) and the unreal feeling the
day after if I miss a dose. I know how hard my wife finds it to cope
with me. She also suffers from depression but believes it is only
reactive depression, brought on mostly by me. I have a few friends
but do not socialize much - but that’s no change from the old days.
My business is not very profitable, partly because I work for friends
but mostly because I can’t start early in the mornings and I work
slowly, but it keeps me off benefit and I love the work. One of my
sons works with me part time and we share so much quality time
together it’s great.
I know the longing for an end, the compulsion to bring life to a
close; I know how the knowledge that your passing will cause sadness
or worse actually deepens your depression and doesn’t, as you might
expect, make you want to stay alive. There are thousands of people
who would dearly love to kill themselves. One of my sons tried it -
he took all the pills he could find in the house, fortunately that
included a lot of my Trazedone and they made him throw the rest of
them up. (Thank God. He didn’t tell us for two days - I thought he
had just hidden my pills because he was in a mood with me, I never
dreamed he had swallowed them.) And I know that it’s different for
every one of us. But I have found help and support here and I am
determined to carry on, if only for the sake of everyone else. But
it’s not easy.
To anyone recovering from an attempt, or from a breakdown: take your
time. What you have been through is unbelievably weakening and you
would not believe how long it takes to recover.
DON’T EVER GIVE UP.
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