Light at the End of the Tunnel

It is never a bad thing to ask for help, contrary to what the mind, or even society, might say. Unfortunately for me, whilst sat there in floods of tears at my kitchen table, the whole tissue box I had emptied littered on the floor, I didn’t realise it.

It was a Wednesday evening in late January, I had just gone through a day of school feeling perfectly content – bar the worries many teenagers find themselves under. I recall feeling focused in the three lessons I had that day, and playing football in the afternoon, I imagined, would only help my mood. After all, they do say exercise helps balance the chemicals in your brain.

But I got home, sat down and genuinely considered suicide. What possibly is there left here for me? How is it ever going to feel like life is worth living?

The weeks of building anxiety and depression had taken their toll. School stress, A-levels closing in. Social stress (ever-increasing in an age where social media has become habitual). Coupled with endless self-doubt, this all swirled about in my mind, like I was a small fish in a gigantic ocean.

At the time, there was no trigger. In the weeks prior, I’d often been overcome by sudden bouts of agitation, a constant desire to simply curl up into a ball and sleep, an overwhelming urge to cry daily, the list goes on. It wasn’t a ‘flick-switch’ change, this hadn’t come out of nowhere. I had already talked to teachers, was in the process of arranging counselling, and had visited a doctor. I still felt alone. Isolated. Different. And when in that state, it was pretty much impossible to articulate any of the cluster of irrational thoughts that had led me down that bleak, lonely path. As one of my teachers put it at the time, it’s like being at the bottom of a well, and still looking down at your feet.

Tired, drained, lifeless. Honestly, there were days where I didn’t want to leave my room, let alone make it into school and be forced into interaction with others. As a child, most see the dark as an eerie, intimidating place, and this intuition is often carried through us through the rest of our lives. On days like the aforementioned, the dark was my place of comfort, and light became a blinding, piercing pain that I would have to do my best to avoid.

That night wasn’t the first time I’d had those thoughts, nor would it be the last. But the memories of it will stay with me forever. The feelings were mindless, happening at least once a week.

Talking about it wasn’t working.

In one session, the counselling had had the adverse effect than intended, though I persisted with it in the weeks after to greater effect. I went through some medication in the short term to no avail, although again the introduction of antidepressants would make this more successful later on.

Regular chats with teachers would only lead to me missing lessons, often unable to cope with even the simplest interaction with my peers. Many picked up on this, and though they caringly offered their support, it was the last thing I wanted to hear. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, but whenever I got to that point, I felt utterly dreadful. It was as if I didn’t even expect people to question my absence, nor did I feel comfortable telling anyone other than those close to me how I truly felt. How could I say I was as low as thinking about death, that would just appear overdramatic, no? Even now, that doubt will always persist.

One of the biggest challenges was dealing with why I felt like death was so desirable. Many people fall into the depths of ill mental health due to a particular event, a close death or something of that ilk. An apt example, given how much his struggle was as I was in that state, is that of Sky Sports presenter Simon Thomas, who lost his wife to leukaemia late last year. I can vividly recall reading a blog of his (which partly served as some inspiration for my writing of this), while I was feeling particularly low, and eventually being reduced to tears by the story. At the time, this just made me feel even lower, my irrational mind pointed to the fact that I didn’t have to deal with any grief, making my feeling of hopelessness even more idiotic. Of course, in reality it was quite the opposite, I cannot begin to imagine the pain of losing such a close love, but it sums up how my mind was able to twist practically any situation.

Another big issue was the loneliness I felt during my periods of intense low. It was as if I was the only person on the planet at times, like there was no one I could talk to, even though rationally I knew that there were those close to me that cared; teachers, parents and friends. In the few weeks following that low Wednesday night, rationality had gone out the window.

The ‘depressive’ aspect to my personal experience was particularly strong. I wouldn’t say that it was as clear cut as my body simply running out of energy, but there were times where I felt aware that I was sinking into a hole or a meltdown of sorts and could feel that in the lack of energy I wanted to exert. The simplest things became exhausting.   

We often consider how intellectually advanced our minds are, but rarely do we consider that with these complications, can become malfunctions if you can call it that. Mental illnesses affect many people in many ways. And the cause of my own predicament was the lack of rationality in my mind.

More recently, those irrational thoughts have been separated from the more sensible ones, as such. It’s as if there is more certainty in my mind as to what is the truth, and what is a wave of thought descending over me, convincing me anything positive isn’t true. Throughout the majority of the last few months, those two ‘parts’ (if only it was easy enough to split them up like that) of my emotions, have almost been one, and it was the more powerful, the one of unease and self-doubt, that always won the battle. I use the term ‘parts’ simply for clarity’s sake, I would be kidding myself if I said emotions are as easily distinguishable as that, but the sentiment remains. It’s as if there is a dark shadow following you, planting the seeds of doubt into your mind at any moment in which you feel remotely positive, and feeding off the pain you exude when you do break down.  

In some ways, it was like that proverbial beast in my mind would appear every time I even reached a temporary state of positivity. It would be then, perhaps when I reflected on something for a moment too long, that it would pounce. And then it would become disastrous

And the worst thing about this? There are people that go through things 10x worse.

I won’t deny I was in a horrible state at one point, and although suicide came to my mind at times, I even considered scenarios in which I died, I never really got close to actually doing it. It is this that scares me the most.

I don’t think there is any other illness or issue that can directly cause someone to want to end it all, often it is that they have no choice with other diseases, tragic though they may be. And this is a clear illustration of the danger the multitude of problems they can pose.

It is nigh-on impossible to understand what is going on in someone else’s head. Unlike a physical condition in some ways, it leaves no apparent effect on a person, other than behavioural patterns over time that may start to emerge. But without awareness, we won’t recognise many of those behavioural patterns before it is too late.

Mental illnesses have always been disregarded, and even are belittled now in some senses. That I am incredibly sure of. There isn’t a magic key that will unlock the gate to understanding them (there isn’t for the mind as a whole), but more conscientiousness towards the issue will benefit many people invaluably.

Without being critical too, I do think that we are all culpable of being a little insensitive at times. Perhaps that isn’t wholly bad, it is seemingly human nature after all. From my perspective, when I was visibly distressed and wanted to seclude back to my bed and spend time alone, those were the times when people would offer support. When I wasn’t as evidently troubled, but actually needed a shoulder to cry on, the support didn’t seem to be there.

It is undeniable that that sentiment was provoked more by my irrationality than the negligence of the people around me, but the point remains. In society, jokes can ‘go too far’ or ‘cross the line’ – everyone has participated in those at points, myself included. I simply feel that it is important to be aware of those minute details that can have such devastating consequences.  

It breaks me apart to think that some people can persuade themselves that self-harm or suicide can actually help anything. I thought I was as low as one could be, yet there are many whose states are exponentially worse. Thankfully for me, I had all the support I could wish for, and that that Wednesday night was one of the lowest points was in some ways a blessing in disguise. It could have been so much more serious, but gradually I am becoming more and more like I have previously felt, and I owe that to opening up to people in the first place.

To be brutally honest, I really don’t know why I’ve decided to publish this. I swayed many times weighing up how it would be perceived – my inner self-doubt still makes me think all I’ve said may come across as self-centred, or that it appears as if I’m trying to portray myself as victim who’s been through so much.

And then there is the converse side, the side that feels people will just characterise this as me. That they will see me as different, abnormal, whatever it may be.

One thing is for certain though, I know why I wrote this. For on many of those tough days, venting my feelings out in writing helped enormous amounts. I decided to have a goal to work towards, eventually putting this out in the open, when I felt it suitable. It sometimes made it feel as if there was light at the end of the tunnel.

Because there always is. No matter to what extreme you feel that people don’t care or that you are worth little to them, there will always be those that care and want to help. Although I say this knowing that it is hard to convince yourself of this at times, please don’t feel like a bother for asking for help.  Regretfully in society, opening up is seen as weak when in fact it is probably the opposite. Talking like this is hard, but it is worthwhile.

In spite of all the tough times that have followed it, talking about my mental health was the best thing I've ever done.