I'm a late sixties child and nothing remarkable happened in my early years although I had breathing difficulties when I was born (probably why I've had asthma all my life) and was put into an incubator. Maybe this explains the problems I have relating to my mother as I've never felt close to her and she seems to be spending a lot of time trying to make up for this resulting in a lot of problems between us. Between the ages of 6 and 9, we lived in Ireland and I remember this as a mostly good time (apart from the nuns that taught me!) playing with lots of other children and generally having a laugh. Even at this early age, I had a weight problem, I can remember overhearing my mother telling a friend that she had no idea why. I ate the same as my younger brother and was always playing outside (this was before the age where children spent most of their time in front of the t.v. or playing on computers).
Just after my 9th birthday, we moved back to England and this seems to be where the trouble started. I joined the penultimate year of a local primary school and was quickly singled out, firstly, for being overweight and, secondly, for having a lisp and a strong Irish accent. Pretty much everyone else in the class had been together from Nursery and it seemed to be very hard to make friends. This was probably the point where I started to become a "people pleaser" as I did many things to make people like me including stealing to order from local shops. It was during this time that a group of boys in my class took advantage of my naivety and got me to do things that I still can't talk about but which haunt me still.
Secondary school seemed to be torture for me. I was very much a loner and this was exacerbated by my interest in Classical music. A teacher once told me that people found me strange because of my musical interest and I should read girls' magazines so that I would be able to talk to them about something (needless to say, I never did this). My music teacher spotted that I had some talent and arranged for me to apply for a music award which would pay for a place at Saturday morning music college so that I would be around people who had similar interests. My hopes were raised to an incredible height by this only to be smashed to pieces when I received a letter rejecting my application.
My mind finally broke and this triggered my first suicide attempt. I had left a suicide note at school which was found by a teacher and they found me before I had chance to do anything serious. I don't remember too many details (probably because I was very shut down) but I do remember my parents being furious. My mother made me write a letter to the police saying I'd been very silly, I didn't mean anything by my actions and I'd never do anything like it again. Years later, I learnt that my parents had been advised to take me to a psychiatrist but they decided everything was fine. This seems to be their approach to my mental health - pretend bad things aren't happening and everything will be okay. The result for me was my ability to pretend that things were fine even when they clearly weren't.
After an appeal by my teacher, I was given an audition and gained a place at junior college and my parents begrudgingly allowed me to go as long as they didn't have to pay anything. However, I wasn't allowed to go on my own, my father had to drive me there and back which probably wasn't his ideal way of spending a Saturday. At this point, I was 14 and most girls my age were going to parties and hanging out together. Not me, my parents refused to let me do anything like that and I wasn't even allowed to play in the next road. I couldn't take part in any after school activities as my youngest brother (born when I was 10) had started school and I was expected to take him to and from there every day. As a teenager, it was depressing to be standing with what I considered to be old people at the school gates every day.
People say school days are the happiest of your lives but that's not always the case. I was a very angry, aggressive child forever getting into trouble. Most of the time I had no idea how I arrived there or something that I thought was a good idea suddenly turned bad, like the time I set a fire under a staircase. I think if it hadn't been for my musical talent, I would have been expelled either that or the fact that my catholic parents and teachers didn't want to acknowledge my growing mental illness.
Somehow, I made it to the end and gained a place at music college to do my degree. I thought that this would be my gateway to the outside world but my parents, in particular, my mother, were having none of this. Although I was entitled to a place in a hall of residence, they weren't prepared to let me go. I tried to move out a number of times but each time they put barriers in my way. their usual response was that I wouldn't be allowed to take anything from the house and they wouldn't support me financially. The "people pleaser" in me stopped me standing up for myself which is something I'll always regret. Maybe if I'd left home at an age when my peers were learning to be independent I'd have learnt to cope with difficulties. Instead, I never felt like an adult as I made my way home on the train each evening.
By this point, I'd began to drink heavily and usually arrived home with a hangover. I'd learnt to hide what was really going on as I knew it was better to walk in with a smile on my face and say everything's fine. In fact it wasn't and I had at least one major depressive episode that needed intervention from the college counsellor. Once again, I somehow made it through and graduated with a good honours degree although I still tell myself that if I'd actually done some proper work, I'd have got a first.
While I was doing a post graduate course, I sort of fell into class teaching. It was a baptism of fire as I'd had no training and I remember very little of that period as I was still drinking. Towards the end, I had what I would call my first major breakdown. Previously, I'd been able to manage my depressive periods but this time I locked myself in the toilets in between lessons as I couldn't stop crying. I'm not sure how long this went on for but, like my parents, I chose to ignore it.
I eventually went on to do my teacher training and then ended up with my dream job - teaching drums. In fact, I ended up with my old percussion teacher's job so it was a bit like coming home as I already knew many members of staff from when I was at school. At this point, I wasn't in a financial position to leave home (so I thought) and besides, I had no idea what was involved. Living with my parents turned out to be a very bad idea though as my mother objected strongly to people from work phoning me and on more than one occasion she insulted my manager.
The job itself was ideal for me as I no longer had to deal with the politics of a staff room. I spent my days driving round the countryside going into schools for maybe 3 hours at most doing the thing I loved most in the world, music. There were a few times in the week when I had to work alongside other people and these short sessions worked well for me.
Five years into that job, my mother finally got sick of my living at home and I ended up buying a place of my own. At last I was free and it felt unreal, it was as if I was playing at being an adult even though I was 30 by then. I could go to bed when I wanted and pretty much do what I wanted. Okay, I had to deal with my mother phoning me several times a week as she couldn't really let go, but I was finally my own person.
Then I started to find out what that person was really like and I wasn't sure I liked her and neither did anyone else. This hit home when I decided to have a flat warming party and invited all my "friends" from work. You've no idea how bad it felt when only two people turned up very briefly. There I was with loads of food and beer and no group of friends. I thought I'd try to find local friends and started going down the pub as I thought that was what other people did. Again, the social awkwardness kicked in and, after a few weeks, I realised that the only person that knew me was the barman and he only knew what my "usual" was so I decided it was cheaper and less painful to get drunk at home. Thus began my period of getting up, going to work, going home, getting drunk, going to bed and getting up again.
Things at work were no better as my social difficulties were starting to cause problems there. I had numerous clashes with managers, usually over longstanding issues. this was not always my fault and I pointed out to them that they were as much to blame as some problems had been allowed to fester for years! There seemed to be quite a few evenings when I drove home in floods of tears for no apparent reason and I eventually plucked up the courage to see a counsellor. In fact, I saw two different counsellors in this period but didn't make much headway with either of them.
During the Easter of 1992, I was teaching on a residential music course when I had another major breakdown. This one came completely out of the blue and really knocked me off my feet. I couldn't even manage to teach without crying and frequently had to shut myself in the toilets to have a good sob. The rest of the time, I shut myself in my room and hardly showed for mealtimes. I'm not sure what my colleagues thought, I know some of them were aware how low I was but they chose to ignore it, probably in the hope that it would go away. Fortunately, I had a few days after the course before the start of term and managed to get back to what I considered normality.
I thought it was just part of my normal mood cycle and that it would be normal for me to have something like this every ten years. Above all, I thought I was safe for many years. How wrong I was! Towards the end of November, there was an incident at work where my ability and standing were brought into question and this triggered an even greater depressive episode. This time, I was seriously suicidal and it ended with me going to my GP and asking for help as I knew I couldn't cope any more. This was two days before Christmas which has never been a good time of year for me.
I tried to go back to work in January hoping that Prozac was the answer but it quickly became clear that I still couldn't cope and I was told to take sick leave. Over the next six weeks, I jumped many hurdles including seeing my first psychiatrist and admitting that I not only had mental health problems but also drink and drug addiction issues as I had been using painkillers in increasing doses for a few years in order to help me sleep.
At that point there were no procedures in place at work for people on long term sick leave and I went back to my full work schedule towards the end of March. This proved to be a bad move and I ended up taking more and more sick days as I couldn't cope with more than a few days at a time. I had acquired a social worker by this time and had also been referred to the psychiatric day unit. On several occasions, the issue of hospital admission had been raised but I kept refusing to go. Looking back on this, I think it was a mistake as it might have got me back on my feet. I was just too scared to go as the thought of a psych ward was too terrible to contemplate plus, my parents would find out and I couldn't deal with their reaction. The doctors didn't push me too hard on it, after all, I wasn't a danger to anyone except myself and they probably considered my self harm to be moderate.
Eventually, occupational health got involved and they deemed me fit to work but only at a greatly reduced level. Over the next two years I got pretty close to a full recovery before someone at work panicked over something very minor and suddenly I was told I couldn't work until occupational health said I could. This was in September 2004 and it took until the following April before I was referred by my manager. Fortunately, I'd teamed up with a mental health advocate who attended meeting with me, spoke up for me and wrote numerous letters on my behalf. Looking back on it now, it's clear my employers had had enough of my poor attendance (which was not helped by everyone's attitude towards mental health problems) and had already decided to get rid of me and in August 2005, I had my fitness hearing where they told me I was losing my job because of my health.
In preparation for this hearing, I'd asked for all my occupational health records. After reading them, it became clear what had been going on. Conversations that I thought had been confidential and were just someone offering friendly support were recorded in detail and there was an allegation that I had assaulted someone. This last bit probably explained why people stopped talking to me and calling to see if I was okay and, more seriously, why I'd suddenly been told that my employers couldn't let me be near children while I was self harming. I think this rule hurt me the most as I've never been a danger to other people only myself.
It's taken me a long time to accept losing my job. Even now, I find myself thinking "if only" and I know that because of my mental health history and other people's prejudice, I will probably never be able to teach children again.
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