World Mental Health Day 2018

As you probably already know, today is World Mental Health Day (it’s also World Porridge Day, which is fitting as it’s one of the things that brings me most joy but let’s stay on topic). It’s ironic that I feel SO strongly about the importance of speaking about our feelings, both good and bad, and yet have found ways to put off writing a post about how it’s affected my own life for a while now. Earlier this week, I set a reminder in my phone to jot something down and upload it on Friday, but since today is about raising awareness and bringing attention to such a universally-experienced subject, I think it would be silly to delay it any longer.

My Dad is from Wiltshire, and thanks to the thick western accent and local dialect, has a ‘vocabulary bank’ of idioms to appropriately fit any situation. ‘A touch of the can’t help its’ is a phrase that helps me sum up that mood when you don’t really know how - or why - you’ve found yourself in a state of helplessness but it’s simply unavoidable. Sometimes it just happens, and you can’t for the life of you find a way to resolve it. One day, you wake up with a little less spring in your step, and the next, you wake up ready to take on the world. This is normal, this is expected, and this isn’t something to be afraid of.

At the start of 2017, I went to my doctors with what I suspected was clinical depression. It was different from the times I’d struggled before; prolonged, relentless, scary and made me consider my ultimate purpose here. I was struggling to find my way at Uni after my placement year abroad, I had lost two of the most influential people in my life in a short space of time and I didn’t think I had the capacity to make those around me proud. Of course, these were irrational thoughts and my friends and family were always prepared to drive this home to me, but I couldn’t see past the impending failure I was convinced I was deserving of.

The day my Mum drove to Portsmouth to rescue me from my thoughts of inadequacy was a day I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget. I do not use the term ‘rescue’ lightly; I don’t really want to think about what might have happened should I have delayed calling her any longer and looking back, I only wish I’d asked for help sooner. She left work, told me not to move and that everything was going to be fine. I think I was scared about opening a can of worms that couldn’t then be closed; to have those who I only ever wanted to make proud know I wasn’t always succeeding and moreover, that I was struggling to even leave the house most days. Jess (my housemate) and I, would often have a laugh about my habit of staying inside and only venturing out to go to the gym or make a late-night corner shop run. I know she knew I was struggling and wanted nothing more than to help, but I had become proficient in diverting the conversation, putting it down to ‘having a bad day’ or refusing to acknowledge the issue altogether. I needed to be the one to help myself, and until that day when I finally understood ignoring it wasn’t an option anymore, I hadn’t considered my problem severe enough to admit.

Mental health is not something my family has ever shied away from talking about. My parents and sister will be the first to admit they have had, and continue to have, their own battles and I’ve seen them individually at their lowest. This didn’t make initiating a conversation about my depression easy, but it certainly helped knowing they would have been able to offer me the reassurance that I was worth more than what my brain was allowing me to believe.

The stigma around mental health is not only harmful but as we’re seeing time and time again, fatal. 5,821 suicides were registered in the UK in 2017 alone - a number that might have been notably lower if the invitation to start a conversation about mental health was more accessible. There’s no shame in asking for help and there’s certainly no shame in acknowledging you’re not at your best when you’re actively looking to rectify that. We’re not untouchable, we don’t always have to be switched on and we certainly need to ditch the idea that total emotional resilience is anything less than impossible. I like the phrase ‘it’s OK not to be OK’ but I prefer the phrase ‘it will be OK’ – understanding the difference between acknowledging your bad days and knowing the feeling won’t last forever is an important sentiment to hold close when you're doubting yourself.

I know that my difficulties surrounding my mental health will be something I’ll have to negotiate throughout my life and there have been many studies that indicate those with occurrences of mood disorders and/or other mental health issues within their family may have a heightened genetic predisposition to neurological problems. Some might be lucky enough to avoid prolonged periods of negative thoughts, but I refuse to believe they’ll never have a bad day. Talking openly about thoughts and feelings and asking those around you how they're doing are small habits we can implement to help make not feeling OK, even more OK.