jonnie Bloor part two

Connecting 

connecting

I should have spotted the warning signs, the little clues that a breakdown was coming.  I should have, but I didn’t.  Or did I just ignore them and go with the stoic, blinkered attitude of “if i persevere, pretend everything is fine, it’ll all go away”?  It never does, and I knew this.  When I think about it now I didn’t want to let anybody down, to let people think I was weak.  This guilt that I might not be dependable was accompanied by self-loathing, which led to worthlessness.  A cocktail that literally no-one orders at any bar. 

I had been sitting on my own in the spare room day after day, working from home for nearly eight months and that, along with the other aspects of the Covid reality had really affected me.  The ingredients of the ensuing collapse were all there - I’d been drinking way more than I usually did (which granted wasn’t much, pre-Covid, but it had me concerned and careless at the same time), I’d started not to care so much about what I ate, my sleep was patchy and I was incredibly irritable and distant, plus I struggled to get any joy from riding my bike.

Riding had just become a monotonous event characterised by various parts of town and countryside passing me by in an almost abstract blur or mundanity and boredom, void of any positivity or excitement.  Just circles creating circles, with me desperate to get home so I could sit and try not to do anything.

After I’d spoken with my doctor at length about my time with depression and anxiety, the meds I’d been on for years and asking me the usual questions about my state of mind and if I felt suicidal, she agreed I was not fit to work. I notified my employer and a weight lifted.  Not all of it, but a part of it.  I’d taken the first step and asked for help, and in so doing admitted I wasn’t coping.  I wasn’t hiding from reality anymore.

The next day the weather picked up and I decided that I needed some space, away from the bustle of a busy family home and the familiar four walls I’d been cocooned in for months on end, so I pushed myself to get on the bike and go in search of the space, as if this elixir would fix what I was feeling.  There is no elixir; this is a mirage in a barren desert, a lie that you long to be true.  But longing things to be true and real truth are socially distant these days.

I pedalled my way around forty blank miles on a pretty flat route that included a coffee spot where I could stop and have some still time for me.  In truth the whole ride was spent with me thinking a combination of fuzzy, out of focus thoughts about my stupid brain, that “can’t even think straight like it’s meant to”, and guilt that my son was having to see me like this and what an awful dad I was for putting him through this.  I’d found no soothing, no calming of the soul, and so I returned home for some sitting and catasrophising.

Over the next few weeks I rode my bike more and more, with each ride creating a new excitement about the next ride. During this time I’d also started to be a lot more open about my mental health with others.  Ditching the filter on life that Instagram provides - and that I was guilty of following, my posts were now honest and real; emotionally I was being more vulnerable, more open and in so doing people started reciprocating, sharing their experiences, supporting and thanking me.  This was a scary thing to do, especially when I was feeling so fragile anyway, but the humanity I received gave me more strength, and a determination that this course I was charting was the right one.  It’s something I’d been passionate about for about five or six years, particularly at work where I was a Mental Health First Aider (MHFA), but I was now bringing it to my personal life and my riding which gave it a new edge, and me a new sense of purpose.

Riding my bike has categorically helped me improve over the past month or so, and is always there.  I can say with certainty that if I hadn’t been riding I would not be where I am today, but it’s the honesty and openness that has really transformed things.  Keeping things to myself never helped, usually because on the whole I didn’t have cognitive ability to articulate things, or believe that people would understand and know how to respond, but in taking that leap I found a community of support and understanding that has picked me up, kept me moving and inspired me.

I’ve read a good quote that says “depression is a liar”, it forces you to focus only on the negative thoughts that trick their way into your mind, that present you with a false image of yourself and the world.  When I’m in these moments riding undoubtedly helps, but don’t lose sight that its connection to other humans who know what you’re going through, who understand, empathise and support you that really makes all the difference.  A coming together over bikes is brilliant, and they’re a fantastic way to get away from your head sometimes, but its people that make the lasting change.  Thanks to all the people who’ve been there for me.