When your mind defects (leaving you without your biggest asset)
Genetics have been generally kind to me. I have no major physical or health defects, my appearance doesn’t usually repulse (despite my lifestyle choices which have led to being overweight, but I’m dealing with that), and I’m generally average at most things, which is a bigger gift than many realise. My greatest genetic inheritance however is my mind. It’s the tool which has allowed me to become fairly successful in my area of expertise, and to generally negotiate a path through my life’s experiences with mostly favourable outcomes.
Image by JD'na via Flickr
My brain’s genetic plan and the subsequent synapse-building experiences of my early years have particulary favoured communication skills and empathy, which I view as intrinsically linked, and the ability to bring to bear a sharp, intense focus: a mix which has been perhaps my greatest strength throughout life. As a consultant, my communication skills and empathy result in rapid rapport and understanding of my client’s pains, motivations and expectations, and my focus allows me to absorb, collate and analyse these inputs very quickly. I can generally turn out resultant work pieces must faster than many of my contemporaries, subsequently allowing me to churn out a high volume of quality work.
Recently however, my ever reliable, identity-defining toolkit has faltered. My mind and body colluded to crush my confidence, destroy my focus and undermine everything which makes me… me. The anxiety attacks I wrote of recently were just the beginning (or at least the first signs obvious to me), of what I now believe will be a long journey of self-discovery, emotional upheaval, and change.
I never understood depression. I sympathised with its victims, no doubt, but I didn’t understand what it really meant. I thought it a cognitive process – a ‘state of mind’ thing, which suffers needed to conquer through determination, counseling and support. I had no idea. I had no concept of how rapidly one’s mind can defect – how quickly your greatest gift can desert you and turn you into a direction-less, hollowed-out zombie, wading through a cesspool of overpowering emotions, pointless thought-loops, and self-doubt.
It wasn’t until I spoke with my GP that some pieces of my puzzle finally fell into place – pieces which the ‘normal’ me would have identified, catalogued, analysed and linked together rapidly. For several years I’ve felt unfulfilled at work, thinking what I do delivers no benefit to mankind and is therefore pointless. For most of this year I’ve generally avoided social situations – usually appealing to me, as I thrive on exchanging ideas and learning new things from other people’s experiences. I’ve avoided emotional entanglements – effectively shutting out emotional stimuli. I’ve been numb. More recently I’ve awoken most mornings before dawn, almost overwhelmed by a deep sorrow, seemingly disconnected with events, easing as the day progresses. Criticisms which I’d normally take on board or reject, depending upon the source and the relevance, have devastated me. I’ve avoided reading, for absorbing information has become very difficult, when usually I read constantly. I’ve cried – sobbed – usually in my car, at the slightest provocation. Songs will do it. Lyrics I’ve heard thousands of times suddenly mean something deep and profound. Reading or hearing about suffering does it too, or the thought that I may have hurt someone I care about.
I’ve never suffered from anxiety. My recent panic attacks were the first I’ve had. Although I’m just beginning the process of working through this, my GP said many things I’ve said are indicative of depression, not anxiety, which suffers tend to battle much of their adult lives. We’re doing some blood tests to eliminate some various things, and we’ll start the process on counseling and so-forth, so we’ll see.
Despite my sympathy for sufferers of depression, the thought that maybe I may yet be described as such is rather horrifying. I know there should be no shame, not guilt, but it’s there. It feels so self-indulgent, so selfish. Yet I wouldn’t think the same of anyone else in this position. It’s chemical. I’m still in here somewhere – I’m just going to need a little help finding myself again.
The Great Burzynski Caper
Stanislaw Burzynski has risen to fame
‘cross the Net, no less, due to making some claims
He can cure Cancer, in its many known guises
With a treatment derived from a source that surprises.
Anti-neo-plaston Therapy it’s called
And many a good scientist will call it a fraud.
A treatment derived from the patient’s own wee
Backed by mountains of evidence that no one can see.
He charges a fortune to bestow upon you
This treatment regardless of whether it’s true.
Foundations have risen, to help out the brave
Who seek out his magic to keep from the grave.
But many who call into question his method
Asking for proof of his claims that he’s gifted
Have been browbeaten, bullied and threatened
By a man named Marc Stephens, who seems like a cretin.
This clown he has written to many a blogger
Demanding retraction, or shortly he’ll clobber
Them with a writ, or a suit, or subpoena
Or something-or-other, it could be made clearer.
Although he suggests he’s an attorney-at-law
His letters suggest he’s just a big bore.
And now he’s unleashed the Internet’s pet
A phenomenon we know as the ‘Streisand Effect’.
Now bloggers and journos the world over unite
A spotlight made up of just pin-points of light
Will shine upon quackery’s bullying ways
To undo the damage of this silly woo craze.
Let’s band together again to defend
The brave, conscientious Rhys Morgan and then
Our Ratbags, and Orac, Andy Lewis and others.
Let’s teach these quack-docs not to mess with our brothers.
I’m no Superman…
What follows is perhaps the most difficult piece of communication I’ve ever written.
It’s difficult because of the hurt, guilt and shame I still feel despite my rational mind knowing these feelings are unwarranted and unhelpful.
It’s difficult because of the stigma attached to mental health issues; the automatic distance people put between themselves and someone they view as ‘unstable’; the sub-conscious caution with which somebody ‘prone to stress’ is handled, perhaps sidelined when “this deal’s really important – we’d better not use him. He might crack up.”
I’m generally perceived as the go-to guy. I’m the one the sales people would prefer to have on their team in any bid, the one they’d like to wheel out to present to customers on our various business solutions, because I know my stuff and I communicate well. Terms associated with me are ‘dependable’, ‘rock-solid’, ‘gets it done’, and ‘secret weapon’. I know this about myself, and I take pride in it. It’s a result of many years’ of putting others first, operating beyond the definition of my job role, and doing what needs to be done to win the deal, implement the solution, and keep everyone happy.
You may view this as arrogance, but this self-view is an essential part of my core self – self-belief, which feeds my willingness to take on new challenges even without knowing what I’m getting into, because I can always handle it.
Well it turns out, not so much…
