Ireland: My Mental Health in a Mental State

October 10th was World Mental Health Day.

I didn't see many posts about it over the past two days ... unlike previous years.

I was thinking about it on my motorbike ... it's a great place for a think ... on the way home from work this evening.

People who post about mental health issues and their personal struggles or experiences are often called "brave" for revealing their pain and the effect it has on their lives.
But to talk about it, and especially their first or second hand brushes with suicide can also be (I think) both painful and cruel. I'll try to articulate what I mean.
In my thirties I began to experience depression. I think of depression and sadness as very different things. For me depression was something that came out of nowhere. It seemed to have no source, no cause.

Depression was something that, for me, was just a feeling that would grow steadily over time ... sometimes months. It was not a rollercoaster but a steady slide into a state where normal functioning became difficult. There was no one thought or issue that would consume my thinking process but a wave of unending mental dialogue that became darker and darker.

For several years I took antidepressants, which I found were very useful. They helped stop the slide and allowed me to resume at least a superficial stability enabling me to function normally at work and at home, but I was never happy that whatever was causing it was actually being addressed - just masked.

For about ten years I was like this. Now the out-of-nowhere type of depression that I could not pin down does not happen so often.

Now I deal with what I regard as a very different form of mental issue - sadness. But this is very much related to identifiable sources - some of my own making. So I can rationalise and reason the issues in my own mind ... and I can "deal" with them though they cause as much distress and despair as depression. So although it is still a constant internal dialogue, I am in control, can function well enough and don't take medication anymore.

Depression (for me) is emotional ... it's a feeling ... maybe not even a thought. I was a full time sports man in my twenties. I had more than a decade of the brain being high on serotonin. At 25 I stopped. By 27 I was married ... more emotional highs. In my early 30s I think I probably came down as the 9 to 5 routine of a desk job and the treadmill of everday life no longer charged my brain. I wasn't physically active - had no serotonin charge, and so my emotional state suffered.

That's why the antidepressants worked for me - Prozac gave my brain a steady daily dose of serotonin which gave me some emotional stability. And once I felt balanced and in control I would come off it. The problem was the depression slide was so imperceptibly slow it might take up to six months before I would find myself at the bottom and go back to my doctor again.

I think maybe a strength that comes from being older enables me to manage the slide now so I am no longer medicating ... but I may at some point need it again in the future ... and that will be fine.

Nor is depression, or sadness just "stress". I don't feel stressed at all. Stress is panic - being out of control dealing with shit ... not being able to organise your thoughts ... the mind becomes a runaway train. With stress there's no order ... everything is whirlwind out of your control....it's about not being able to make sense of a world of confusion.

The sadness that I feel is very much organised thinking. I know exactly what the issues are - my own take on them - I can articulate very clearly what's going on in my head - there is clarity ... but the result of what I think is this sadness. The high of a prozac pill won't change how I feel about those things ... they are not emotionally based ... they are based on clear, logical, mature, rational thinking ... it's the result that's emotional - not the source.

So labels, categorisations, generalisations etc. are absolutely NOT HELPFUL I don't think. There are as many types of 'depression' as there are sufferers. And as many reasons for suicide as there are victims...

With both types of struggle the concept of suicide has been present.

While some will say it's "brave" to talk about it it is also quite painful and in a way cruel. To say that you even have the slightest thought of suicide is (for me, I repeat...) an admission of failure ... failure to deal with or have the ability to deal with those things that are consuming you with sadness. Failure in relationships, failure in responsibilities, underachievement, lack of ambition... It's a cultural thing in part...we're supposed to man up ... to not let things get on top of us ... to fight back.

"Brave" is also ENTIRELY the wrong word to use - because to someone suffering with depression or someone suicidal who CANNOT express themselves either personally with a friend or publicly in something like this it might lead someone to infer that they are a coward... Of course that's not what is meant by "brave" but is the WRONG LANGUAGE - and everything about this issue is related to language. Our thoughts, our internal dialogue ... they are very definitely a form of self-programming ... your thought patterns form your reality ... and to sow an idea that someone suffering like this is not brave is to insert a virus into that programming. Perhaps the bravest ones are the ones who hide it all ... it's actually almost impossible to properly verbalise about the subject because it is thoughts wrapped in emotions and contradictions and reason battling unreason.

Something that causes (most) of my sadness is the loss of contact with my daughter following my divorce. I bear some of the blame for this ... it's partly of my own making. It's been paralysing to find the right way to overcome it ... and I've been trying ... without making the pain worse for her.
Dealing with the pain of this, and other (sometimes more mundane) issues has brought me to points of severe emotional crisis over the past 7 years. The most recent episode of despair and desperation came last March when I was so distraught that ideas of suicide were very strong.
Suicide is not something that came with depression ... I remember clearly in my teens thinking about it .. not for myself but just as a concept ... and how it would become a "thing" as the world was changing and speeding up.

In my thirties, dealing with depression there were a few times when the concept became an "option" in my mind. I am 51 now and in March it became an "option" again. An option but not a solution.
I have been blessed to have a mind that while being tormented with negative thoughts is also predominantly and rational, reasoning mind and I have always been able to find either the internal strength or some rationale to not do anything "foolish". I've never attempted suicide ... so I don;t think I am in any danger, but while it's "brave" to speak about it

It is also painful to admit it and (for me) is cruel to my friends and family to reveal it because as something I think I should deal with, it feels unfair to cause them the pain of hearing it ... but that's not a reason anymore to keep it hidden.

I have seen suicide up close.

I would say I think about it a lot; I imagine it occasionally; I've considered it maybe 4 or 5 times but


I've never attempted it.

And this is the first time I've spoken about it - although I've posted about depression before.

Mental health and suicide especially are invisible. I've no doubt many people even reading this have been to similar places but none of their friends or family would even suspect anything of the sort.
Recently a long time friend of my Dad, a married man with family, successful in business, highly intelligent and professionally qualified simply disappeared ... without a trace and without (as far as I know) any prior warning or signs of mental struggle.

The inability to speak about it is rooted in our Catholic teaching, our repressed national psyche and the cowardice of the State to deal with it properly. To our shame, the state ignores it. period.

Actually, more than that, that State contributes to it in very damaging ways ... perhaps unintentionally but in a real way nonetheless.

If there is a place on earth that can be described as hell it is the Family Courts.

One time I started to become upset while in the middle of a hearing. I caught the court clerk rolling her eyes at me that communicated very clearly "oh, here we go ... turn on the waterworks..."

This is partly society's dismissive opinion of men who are weak, unable to handle intense emotional situations with more acceptable masculinity. It is also the State's attitude to men in Family Court. I won't say any more about it but it is totally unacceptable, dismissive, unprofessional and damaging.

In the 2014 Budget the State also removed a tax credit for separated/divorced couples. I spent months and months sending long, detailed and clearly articulated arguments to very member of the Oireachtas against the 'logic' for its removal and explaining the consequence of the change. I received a handful of sympathetic responses but not one TD or Senator was prepared to take my the more reasoned alternative proposals and raise them in either House. My arguments and proposals remain well reasoned and valid - but nobody will do anything.

Whether it's the Courts or the Legislature, the State has shown its inability to understand the real world effects of its attitude and its actions.

We don't speak mental health and suicide because it is an admission of failure of ourselves and to keep it hidden is to protect our loved ones. And not least because the invisible nature of mental health means it is treated almost as a myth or an abstract thing ... or even as some kind of hipster illness ... to be dismissed as some failure of character or weakness.

In 1988 I was in the Olympic panel for Seoul and the team (cyclists) went to do interviews with a psychologist/psychiatrist ... sports psychology was a very new thing and I don't think there any specialized sports psychologists in the country at the time. I've never forgotten that in the interview there was a question whether you had ever had suicidal thoughts. I lied...afraid of what it would mean for my chances of getting selected...

That fear of admitting to having those types of thoughts still exists now...30 years later.
That's not progress on an issue so important and prevalent...

I didn't get to go in the end. 🙁

I have been in my boss's office over the years quite a few times in tears, and he has been understanding and sympathetic ... but that's just at the times when I've been at the bottom of the slide.

Apart from those times, at times when I've appeared normal, and functioning, and even "up", he has never called me into the office to ask me how I'm doing then...when just below the surface I've been just as distressed.

I don't mean this as a rebuke or a criticism of him .. it's just the nature of mental health. It's invisible. Until it breaks the surface it is unseen, undetectable ... and therefore it almost doesn't exist.

In this country mental health is only discussed after the fact - when it's too late.

I don't know what the forum is for allowing people to talk about it more openly. Of course everyone should see their GP first - Pat Watson in Ashbourne has been of incalculable help to me - but in a way, the closed-door confidentiality of the doctor's surgery doesn't help when it comes to addressing the issue out in the open, in public, with a wider audience.

I've never spoken to any friends or family about how close I've been on a few occasions, even life long friends - and it will be painful for them to hear it here ... and especially for my kids ... but being open about it now might make a difference in their lives ... as much as I have hidden what's inside of me from them, I've no idea what is going on with them that is invisible to me.

I feel like the social media platform might also have some form of connotation or stigma ... that posting like this can be seen as a "me, me, me" kind of attention seeking, self promotion vehicle. To that I say FUCK OFF ... this is painful to reveal ... it doesn't give me any pleasure and will hurt people close to me ... but it needs to be unveiled, made visible.

I don't know if what I've written here is even coherent so apologies if I've rambled.

I think life is a search for happiness.

For some, the longer the search goes on without success the more futile it must seem.

The idea that happiness might never be found ... the idea that life itself might be futile ... that the future holds no joy...

That's when suicide feels like an option.

But it is never a solution.

Thank you for reading.

The search continues...

The Mysterious Lost Genius of Judee Sill

I was spreading the love by putting friends on to the story and music of Judee Sill, an american singer-songwriter on the 60s and 70s, but the FaceBook Nazis pulled it so I'm posting it here for those who might be interested.

Basically I'm a big Shawn Colvin fan and one of the songs that I love is "There's A Rugged Road" which appears on her 1994 album Cover Girl.

It's not her song (hence appears on "Cover" Girl...).  It was written by a forgotten artist called Judee Sill.

The song has always mesmerised me and does every time ... for the lyrics, the chord sequences and the really interesting "tripping" rhythm in the chorus.  Other than the credit on the album I had never looked into Judee Sill, her music and her story ... and both are certainly worth looking into.

She may well be the female Brian Wilson or Gerry Rafferty...

So here are some links for your further perusal:

Where it started for me:
Shawn Colvin - There's a Rugged Road - Cover Girl 1994
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1IHE09lOjyU

BBC4 Radio Documentary - The Lost Genius of Judee Sill
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T6cEreyGpYI

The Mysterious Life of Judee Sill (includes performance on The Old Grey Whistle Test)
http://the-toast.net/2015/01/07/the-mysterious-life-of-judee-sill/

Judee Sill: Soldier of the Heart - Rolling Stone Magazine 1972
https://www.rollingstone.com/music/features/soldier-of-the-heart-19720413

The Life & Times of Judee Sill - Dusted Magazine
http://www.dustedmagazine.com/features/367

Judee Sill - Album: Judee Sill - 1971
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-7kbEYa0Pus

Judee Sill - Album Heart Food - 1973
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KI7sOZQaSkI

The Life of the Drum Stig : A Short Story : It's A Rock(y) Road

My story begins in the summer of ’65.  On a balmy July night, after a rather underwhelming spice burger and chip meal on the banks of the Dodder river, in the soft red glow of a half finished Woodbine, my Father (in his words) made sweet sweet mincemeat of my Mother in the back of a Hillman Hunter.  The story of this night has been passed down through our family from my mother to her eldest boy to his second girlfriend to her second son........my Father.
.. ..
The car is long since gone to the great lay-by in the sky but the rear seat remains a family heirloom and is the centre piece of my living room today, maintained with loving care and custom-laminated to preserve the claw marks left in the heat of passion by my mother.  On moonlit nights you can still see the shimmer of her nail polish against the red vinyl.....
.. ..
I was born ten and a half months later, after a long and bitter battle with the midwife - a large hairy woman from the West of Ireland.  I was determined to remain in the womb to avoid the unseemly gloating which followed England’s World Cup victory, but the midwife had arms which had been developed from push starting tractors and a grip which must have come from milking bullocks.  I didn’t stand a chance – not with my crook knee.....
.. ..
The next eighteen years were spent in intensive training.  Every day I honed my body for combat – determined never to be bested by another woman.  I spent many summer days walking the two hundred mile road to Dublin zoo where I was paid to wrestle female gorillas for two shillings and sixpence and a hundred weight of Fyffes best bananas.....
.. ..
Finally, at age nineteen, to the delight of my parents and the relief of my teachers, I graduated from primary school with full honours and a June 1978 issue of H&E which I stole from Paddy Carthy’s desk.  I was ready to take my place in the world.....
.. ..
It was the summer of 1985 and everyone was buzzing with the excitement of something called Live Aid.  In my small country village it was difficult to get up to date reports of events that were happening millions of miles away in the outside world.  The woman in the post office had heard rumours of war that year, but the town seargent assured us the Germans would never get across the lower field which he had rigged with trip wires and empty soup cans.....
.. ..
In the local picture house a new film was opening.  I didn’t realise it at the time but this would be the turning point in my life, my ascent to manhood, my second birth.  It was unexpected, happening without fanfare or ceremony, with no sign or warning.  We arrived at the entrance to the cinema and in a soft loving voice my mother turned to me and said, “Okay Seamus, you’re old enough to go in on your own now…………”.....
.. ..
I was stunned.....
.. ..
And so, in 1985, I discovered ROCK!.....
.. ..
After eight months of searching and hundreds of late night, dark room, poteen fuelled discussions, the hunt for the Y was called off.  ROCK was an epiphany.  The story of a small time boxer, an underdog who got his chance and took it – overcoming his dirt poor upbringing and an horrendous speech impediment, the champion beneath would find his way to glory.  My life was changed forever.  I realised that low IQ and deficiencies in elocution would no longer be barriers on my path to greatness.  I left the cinema a changed man, and for the next two months I roamed the streets of our small town crying “Adrienne” at the top of my voice.....
.. ..
So it was that at almost twenty years of age my voice broke and I was asked to retire as an altar boy.  The parish priest wept softly as I said goodbye, but already, even before I had reached the gates of his house on the long gravel path I could feel myself straighten and within days I was walking normally again.....
.. ..
ROCK had changed my life and over the next two decades my education would continue with ROCK II, ROCK III, ROCK IV, RETURN OF THE ROCK, THE EMPIRE STRIKES ROCK, PREDATOR vs ROCK, HARRY POTTER AND THE PHILOSOPHER’S ROCK and AVATAR.  ....
.. ..
The most important of these lessons however was the story of ROCK when he returned from the army.  He was in some jungle in some country somewhere fighting some little yella fellas in some war probably for some oil, when upon his return to some small American town in some State probably in America somewhere he fell out with the sheriff and had to go commando.  The film was RAMBO, or as I like to call it ROCK FOREVER.
.. ..
My life flashed before my eyes – big hairy woman; screaming; blood; punching big hairy woman; more blood; open road; big hairy gorillas; bananas; big hairy teacher; mother; more punching; mass; robes; more screaming; more blood; popcorn; “FOCUS!!!”; sticky palms; ROCK……....
.. ..
The road ahead was clear.  The only thing that mattered wasn’t pronunciation, physical exertion, maternal affection, zoological confrontation, religious insertion, cinematic devotion, or automotive conception.  It was ROCK.  The purpose of my life was to become ROCK.  ....
.. ..
Then one day I heard that some eccentric English singer, with poor elocution – probably the result of some horrible incident involving a mammal of the Eptescus Fuscus variety, was looking for a pupil.  A disciple to follow in his footsteps, to learn from the Sensei of Rock, to become the Lord of Rock.....
.. ..
So I said, “sure I’ll give it a go……..”....
.. ..
This is my story....I hope the Beginning

not The End.....

Standing at the crossroads with Lance

They (no idea who "they" are) say, 'the truth will set you free'.

Thinking about Lance and his interview with Oprah (I won't call it a confession because it wasn't) and what the value of it might be.  For him, for Oprah, for cycling, for sport in general, for those who were robbed of glory and reward, for those who suffered the ridicule and derision of a public mesmerized by the messiah.

There will be a certain amount of justice from it and although I do not want any leniency towards him for what he has done, some good will come from it.

The thing is, I too have stood at the crossroads where Lance stood, with the choice to go over to the dark side or to stay on the right path.  So I am hoping that by following the example of the Dark Lord, there might be some redemption for me and a chance to move on with the rest of my life with the weight of the world off my shoulders.

While I did not reach the heights that Lance did, or achieve the fame or reap the rewards; I did not win the Tour de France or even ride in it; I was never invited to the White House with President's Bush, Clinton or Obama; I never nearly married a rock chick icon or inspired a generation of kids to take up sport.  But I did compete in the same amazing sport; won some titles at national level; represented my country; had some great results against excellent competition; and loved every minute of it.  I pushed myself to be as good as I could be.

But there is something that stops me from walking as tall as I should.  And now, even at this point, I am hoping that telling the truth is the right thing to do.  I never considered taking this course of action before, but Lance has shown me that life may be better for doing the right thing.

So I am making this confession to my parents who did so much for me, my sisters who were never aware of what I was doing, my children who look up to me, and may be disappointed for a while but hopefully will see the honour in the course of action I am now taking and all those who were deceived for so long.  I make this confession knowing that there may be no forgiveness, no redemption, no absolution.  There may in fact be anger, acrimony, outrage and disappointment, but it is the right thing to do and hopefully the truth may set me free.

I don't have a tv network with a celebrity friend to broadcast my confession to the world so I will do it here, on facebook .... the people's channel.

I have, in the past, used performance enhancing drumsticks.

After The Storm

It's hurricane season. 
It's a strange phenomenon.  The wind, resting gently on the sea for months, awakens from its sleep as if disturbed by something unseen.  It swirls imperceptibly, gathering strength, moving stealthily on some invisible path.  When it reaches full strength it has the rage and passion of something alive.

Something wild.  Magnificent and powerful.

It seems to have a purpose, like a creature moving on instinct - without reason or consciousness - a phantom moving across the sky - stalking some prey or other - a shark feeding its hunger.  It seems to have a personality, a nature which we recognise, an emotional reality - so we name it.  Maybe we name it because with believe we can humanise it - communicate with it - empathise with it - control it.
The hurricane is not human.  It is not rational.  It has no conscience.  Its purpose is its own force.  It is unsolicited and unapologetic.  It is born - lives for a brief time - and then disappears into whispers and sighs to sleep once more in some secret cave on the ocean.
 
But the fierce passion of its short life - from gentle birth to screaming child, monstrous adult and back to toothless old age - leaves other lives in a dusty cloud of confusion, pain and tears.  The peaceful world is shattered.  The houses where we live, and those we were building, are torn from their foundations and lie strewn across the landscape.  The hurricane has run its course of indifferent destruction, of passionate arrival and dispassionate departure.

Its screams become the laments of innocents left in its wake, its driving rain the tears of fools who did not see it coming, did not want it and could not stop it, its anger the bitterness with which we return to our own powerless lives, and its receding roar the cackling witch that haunts our dreams and taunts us.  Its legacy is the rubble from which we start to build again.

The house that was dreamed of will not be the same.  It will bear the scars of the storm.  Its walls may whisper its mother's given name.  It will carry a shadowy memory of its birth.

But it will be stronger than we had planned.  It will stand defiant against the storms to come and be our safest place.

And it will be home.

I have this idea for a new cooking show .... it's called Dicing with Death.  Gonna be a killer hit !

Armstrong - The After-math

So the Emperor has been naked all this time.........

For a decade we believed he was Superman in golden robes.  Were we fooled, or did we just not want to see the truth?

Whatever discussions, analysis, post-mortems, reviews, tribunals, investigations, books, symposia etc follow from the USADA report, the important questions are:

Why was the system so flawed?  How can we fix it?

Why was the system so flawed?
For one, I don't accept that the technology in 2012 is so much further than it was in 2002 - that what is used or available today was not  available then.  Blood analysis is not something that was invented in the 21st century.

When EPO appeared, the response was to set a ceiling measurement.  This is like a speed limit on the roads .... people  won't drive below it...they will drive as close to it as possible.  It's human nature.  The 50% level was obviously way too high, when the accepted norm was much lower.

Once the parameters were set, the first question to any intelligent person would be: "how would a cheater get around it?".   To understand alcoholism you talk to a recovering alcoholic.  To understand drug abuse and addiction you talk to a former junkie.  May Michele Ferrari should have been employed by the UCI to design an unbeatable testing system since according to the USADA report it took him all of five minutes to see the flaws in the UCI's program.

But really you have to go back to cause of the doping, not the effect or the doping itself.


Money....the 'math' part of the after-math.

Currently there is no disincentive to a sponsor to hire a drug cheat .... be it rider, manager, doctor, soigneur or coach.  When a rider fails a drug test, the rider is sanctioned, fined, suspended or banned.  For the sponsor, their investment is not damaged, the team continues unaffected and in the end there is no such thing as bad publicity.  How many sponsors have seen their business adversely affected by positive controls on their riders?

If a rider fails a test, the sponsor has the possibility to kill the result with donations to organisers / federations / even perhaps the UCI e.g.the alleged payment for Armstrong's Swiss positive.  If they are willing to pay after the fact, why not make them pay a priori (is this a proper use of the term?)

For the UCI to refuse to acknowledge anything that happened in the past, or to deny their own responsibility for any of it, or their accountability to their membership for the state of the sport is to perpetuate the system that has failed thousands of talented young riders like Mark Scanlon.

I have witnessed the old system's failure in the past at close quarters.  In my final year racing in France I won the final stage of a stage race in Eastern France.  Successfully infiltrating the race winning move early in the stage, I was riding in a group with the second placed overall rider (a National Champion).  The yellow jersey (a former professional teammate of Sean Kelly) was back in the bunch with a strong team and a wallet to recruit extra riders if needed.  About two thirds way through the stage, the yellow jersey, all his team and several members of other large teams all got off!  The stage was on a circuit, and when riders passed the finish line with perhaps 2 laps remaining, the dope control notice was spotted at the podium.....

I presented myself for testing as the stage winner to be told that no controls would be performed.  The organisers and sponsors were saved the possibility of very damaging publicity.

I remember reading in L'Equipe magazine in the late 80's, when I was based in France, that at the Rolland Garros tennis tournament, dope controls were performed on competitors.  However the results of positive tests were never published if the culprits agreed to leave the tournament.  So if a seeded player got beaten in the early rounds by a "nobody", you could reasonably infer that they had failed a control.  Drug testing was not a done on a large scale in that sport ..... in fact Rolland Garros was one of the few tournaments with antidoping.  How they handled it meant they KNEW there were cheats, but the sponsors were protected!.

That kind of  "protecting the Golden Goose" can not continue....

How do we fix it?
If a team hires any employee previously connected with a drug investigation,  the sponsor pays the UCI €100,000 per.  If a team hires a previously convicted ride, the sponsor pays the UCI €200,000.  If a rider fails a test, the sponsor pays the UCI €300,000.

Riders still serve their suspensions or bans and non riders serve mandatory suspensions .... even those who confess after the fact .i.e. Rijs.

In this way, low paid (i.e. ordinary team members) will be discouraged from doping.  High paid riders (Team Leaders) would normally earn enough money in their contracts for the sponsors to be able to recoup the payment in legal action.  The UCI would have an incentive to maximise the success rate of their doping program which could be financed by positive results.

UCI tested LA more than 200 times.  If even 100 of these tests were conducted at times when he was actually cheating, then the success rate of the UCI's program is less than 1 in 100 at best. 

The UCI would have unparalleled credibility in sport worldwide among the public and among honest sponsors by enforcing a system as proposed.

Has nobody ever raised this before?

If this has never been seriously considered, if no one in the UCI ever discussed in detail the fallibility of their testing program and policy, and if no one accepts responsibility for what has gone before, then the UCI are not the body to govern the sport.

If any of  this did take place, then the UCI are not the body to govern the sport.