I was recently asked to contribute to a series of webinars organised by Bipolar UK around the relationship between Bipolar and Suicidal thinking, particularly in the LGBT community.

The Webinar took place on Tuesday 17 September 2024 and has now been published on Youtube. My contribution starts from 7:20 to 20:00 and then I return for the Q&A at the end from 52:36.

So, I've got a bit of a confession to make. The long and the short of is that whilst I have lived experience of both being bipolar and gay, I'm very fortunate that my experience has not included thoughts of suicide. So after enthusiastically agreeing to contribute to this session, I wasn't entirely sure what I was actually going to say.  But when I saw some of the statistics ahead of today's session, I had a realisation.

It appears that I'm part of the lucky 10% of those affected by bipolar to not have experienced suicidal thinking. Not only that, I'm also part of the 55% of the LGBT community to not have experienced suicidal thinking either. And that itself, I thought was very interesting.

So it got me thinking - why is that? What's different about me, my life and my experience of these things that have kept me safe? Is it in my biology, my the way I think, or is it external factors? Maybe it's just down to luck? Am I just lucky?

If it's down to the way I think or external factors, are these things that we actually have control over? Can we influence our thinking and our environment to make it safer so that we are able to avoid these terrible thoughts when we're unwell? And maybe there are things here that we can all learn from and apply to our own lives.

So, first of all, my credentials, as such.

I was first diagnosed with bipolar in 2003 at the age of 19 when I was held in hospital for over a month. I've had a number of other serious relapses over the last twenty years which have also involved hospital stays, and on one occasion I was there for three months.  In between all of those there have been occasional blips which haven't needed hospital treatment. But I've also had some very long periods of staying well.

Now, I'm saying all this because I feel it's important for my story that you realise I'm not using the term "bipolar" in any light weight "trendy" way that it's sometimes thrown around in celebrity culture - such that it wouldn't be surprising that I hadn't experienced suicidal thinking.  I have a serious case of this condition and it has affected my life profoundly. I have experienced very deep depressions and I really probably should have experienced suicidal thinking at some point - but I haven't.

My most recent serious relapse was in 2020. As usual my mood went high and I entered in to a manic phase. I was admitted to hospital in the middle of the covid crisis.  When I got discharged back home, I knew what to expect. I was getting myself ready for an extreme drop in mood - as the depressive phase of this condition took hold.  But this time, things could be different. I wondered: would be possible to recover without dropping in to a depression. The conditions were good.

• The weather was fantastic - I was sent home at the start of July in the middle of what would turn out to be one of the best summers in recent memory.
• I still had a job and was receiving sick pay - so the bills were paid.
• But most importantly, I had form. I'd been ill with this before, and I'd recovered.

So I set out to have a great summer. And I achieved the goal. I managed to recover from a major bipolar episode without a depression. This is how I did it.

1. Psychology: I knew that I had recovered from this before. I knew, with certainty, that I would be able to do it again. When things got difficult, I would say to myself "I've had this before, I've recovered before, and I'll do it again". It became my mantra.
2. I didn't allow feelings of guilt or blame. There's  few things here: 
   1. I did not waste time dwelling on the embarrassing or unkind things I did or said during my manic phase. I let go of the past and I forgave myself. After all, it was the illness, it was not me.
   2. I did not blame others. Although it felt like certain individuals contributed to me getting ill, forgave them. I did this, not because I felt their behaviour was OK, but to allow myself to move on.
   3. I did not blame myself. It's an illness. In the same way it's not our fault when we get a cold, it's not our fault when we get ill with bipolar. 
3. I have a very supportive partner: Jason deserves not only a shout out, but a medal - for sticking with me through it all.
4. Friends: I've got some great friends. One friend invited me away camping later that summer. He just treated me like he normally would: we were able to laugh and joke as though I wasn't in the middle of mental health recovery. And he enabled me to forget about it. It got me  got me out of my comfort zone and doing things I wouldn't normally do - and it helped me get my confidence back.
5. Exercise: I got out on my bike nearly every day. I'd go out for hours and hours and I discovered a huge expanse of nature reserve and parkland very close to where I live. At that point, cycling became, and still is, what I consider to be my happy place. We all need to work out what it is that we can do that allows us to "recharge" our wellbeing. For me, it became cycling.
6. Learning: I started a reading habit, learning about Bipolar, wellbeing and learning other people stories.  I also joined Prime and Netflix for what would routinely become "documentary" afternoon. There's a lot of stuff on there about wellbeing and mental health.
7. Next was learning about me: I started writing journals every few days. It helped me get thoughts out of my head but also to understand myself better. I was learning who I really was.
8. Time: I allowed myself the time it took to get better, I felt no rush to get back to things. What was important was my wellbeing and getting better.
9. Opening up: I started sharing my story anonymously by writing blogs for the Mary Frances Trust, and started to do more of this over the years.

And in remarkably quick time - compared to before - I got better and felt like I was back to normal.

This episode made me realise that were things I needed to learn about myself to help me reduce my risk of getting ill. I realised that by taking responsibility for my condition I do hold a lot of power for preventing a relapse, reducing the seriousness of it if it occurs and recovering more quickly. There were some things I had to do.

• Learning to read my body. Knowing the early warning signs and knowing what to do when I spot them. 
• Dealing with shame and self stigma. It has been tough, but I learned that most of the stigma was from within. What I discovered that when I opened up and told people, was that they were understanding and appreciative of my honesty. Not only that, they often then shared that either they, or someone close to them, had been affected by mental health in some way.
• But mainly, it was about accepting who I am, and owning it. I went public with my diagnosis two years ago through my involvement with End Stigma Surrey. I then started a blog and posting on social media. Since then I've had a number of media appearances. Now this was a big decision that I took a lot of time over, but it has done nothing other than grow my confidence. And in fact, none of the fears I held about going public have come to pass.

So, that's how it's been for me. There's a mix of elements there that have been key to my success for recovery and have helped me avoid suicidal thinking. Some are indeed probably down to luck, but I think we can influence many of the factors. 

Fundamentally it's about having to accept that whether we like it or not, we're stuck with this thing and we need to make the best of it. And that can be hard, really hard, and takes some time.
We've gotta take that responsibility for ourselves and make changes to our lives that reduce our likelihood of illness and increase both our probability and speed of recovery when it does. It's about finding the right support, knowing ourselves better and making protective lifestyle changes.
​
Now everyone is here to learn more about the bipolar in the context of LGBT, and how it affects others. Next is to learn more about yourself. I want to know what's your story? What if you were asked to speak in this presentation, what would you say? And what's holding you back from doing so? If its feelings of shame and stigma, what could you do to overcome them? 

So that's all I wanted to say really.  Stay strong and know that bipolar does not need to define us. We can, and should, live full and enjoyable lives. So, don't let anyone stop you; particularly - you.​

On 30 June, at the close of Pride month, I was interviewed by That's TV South East which broadcasts across parts of Surrey on Freeview Channel 7 and includes local news. They approached me in response to my previous blog "​Overcoming the double self-stigma of being gay and bipolar". They wanted to find out more about how I knew I was gay, how my mental health played in to it and barriers I've had to face, as well as the support organisations and groups that I've participated with.

I’m what they’d call a late bloomer when it comes to finding my sexuality.  It wasn’t until I was 26 that I started seriously asking questions about myself and seeking support. Interestingly that coincided with an acute relapse with my bipolar disorder. I, like many people who ‘come-out’ gay, at any age, consider that I was probably always gay. I don’t think I turned gay at any particular point. My experience around the time I first ‘came out’ as gay was a period of enlightenment and discovery in my life. When thinking back over the years the evidence for it stacks up.

At school I’d never had a girlfriend; at a young age I’d make pencil drawings of topless male torsos and I’d daydream over certain guys in class. As I got older I remember walking down the street and noticing good looking guys but completely miss the girls that my mates would be jeering at. At a time when my friends were finding girlfriends, I was just not all that bothered, but I didn't know why. Despite all of this, I just hadn’t put two and two together. There was little actual information being made available back then about what being gay was or what it meant. All I knew was kids at school just used it as an insult. So whatever it was, it must be bad and that means I can't be it.

So, the years went by. I had friends that had been brave enough to come out at earlier ages and I always felt very comfortable around them – never any sense that it was weird nor did I hold any form of stigma about them being gay. But for me being gay, well that was very different. I went to Uni, I graduated from Uni, I got a job, bought a house etc… Life went on. Yet, I still didn’t identify myself as gay. I had a huge mental block and it was easier just to ignore it and march on. Then, something happened and from an unexpected place I found myself questioning who I was. This brings us to Christmas day 2008. While most families were at home stuffing themselves with turkey and mince pies, I had just landed in A&E. I hadn’t slept for days, my head was full of ideas of grandeur and false money making schemes. I’d spent excessively on my credit cards. My mood was massively elevated, I was disconnected from reality and very argumentative. I’d been hit by a major bipolar episode.

This hadn’t come out of nowhere. I’d just returned from a three-month work secondment in Dubai. Now, it’s worth noting that there are no LGBT rights in Dubai and homosexuality is illegal, with fierce punishments that may include death by stoning. I’m not sure they’ve much more tolerance for mental health conditions either for that matter. However, this was a fork in the road moment – had I been able to accept my sexuality at an earlier age – I simply wouldn’t have gone and would most likely have enjoyed my Christmas dinner at home with my family than in the confines of a Psychiatric ward. Conversely, dealing with my sexuality would most likely have been kicked down the road for a few more years.

The work placement was largely fine, although it was my first time being overseas for any prolonged period of time and I’d not travelled internationally for holidays more than a couple of times. Whilst it sounded like a great opportunity, I really didn’t enjoy it at all. I struggled massively with loneliness. Weekends seemed to drag and there was little to do. Sitting by the pool, shopping and going to restaurants was about it.

I had fallen in to a slightly depressive state and to make things worse, towards the end of my secondment, I had a falling out with the manager. I don’t think it was actually all that serious but I blew it out of proportion in my own head and made myself very anxious about it. It was only a few days before I was due home anyway and I had a plane ticket booked. Fortunately I managed to keep myself together to get my stuff packed up, to the airport and on a plane home. By the time I got home, I was very relieved to be back in around familiar surroundings. I felt safe to be home. Whilst this should have been a start to my mental health recovery, in fact it was the start of a steep deterioration. There’s been a familiar pattern for my bipolar episodes over the years. Once the pressure that has led to a deterioration in my mental health has passed, and I feel safe again, that can often be the trigger that causes my mind to let go and for me to fall in to a deeper state of my condition. This is what happened to me on this occasion and resulted in me being admitted to a Psychiatric ward on Christmas day.

I was there in total for 12 weeks. I sometimes describe the experience of a serious episode as similar to having my brain ‘reformatted’, in the same sense of how you might ‘reformat’ a hard drive in your computer; the process of wiping all the data from it ready to start again. I’d go in to hospital feeling alive and full of personality (my bipolar always goes high first) and after several weeks of strong medication I’d come out the other side feeling like an empty husk.

Then the recovery period becomes the rebuilding phase. Taking time to think about what I want in my brain. How I want my life to be, what I want to do and how I want to live. I’d find myself questioning life, the world, me and my place within it.  And during this process I find myself thinking deeply and asking questions of myself that I’d never think to ask when I’m otherwise ‘well’. During this time I’ll often reflect on thoughts and emotions I’ve experienced during the manic phase of the condition. When my mood elevates, this manifests as greater confidence in the way that I act but also the way that I think. It pushes boundaries and takes me to places in my mind that I’d not normally go to whilst I’m my normal quiet, conservative self. And this time, not before time, I started to ask the important question “am I gay?”. Despite the previous evidence, I really wasn’t sure and certainly wasn’t able or willing to accept it.

The first person I opened up to about it was my Community Psychiatric Nurse, Michael. I’m not sure why it felt relevant to bring it up with him; I guess I felt comfortable having that discussion, and in the broader context of my other weird things I’d said during my relapse it was no biggie; just another problem for the pile. Fortunately Michael wasn’t phased by the question and was able to sign-post me to a charity for further support – London Friend near Kings Cross.

The first step needed on my coming out gay journey was to actually identify that there was something not usual about my sexuality and work out what it was. It was all to easy to kick the can down the road and not do anything, after all, I’d done that for the last 15 or so years at least (based on probably having my first gay thoughts at around age 11 when starting senior school). The major sticking point with me was definitely self stigma. From my perspective, being gay was something that very much only happened to other people. My bipolar episode was what was needed to kick me in to action in to dealing with these emotions. On the outside, it looked like bipolar made me gay. I went in to hospital as a ‘straight’ man and came out three months later thinking I might be gay. But in reality there was a lot more going on. It was the start of a journey to find my authentic self.

Once I started asking questions, I met a lot of people via various gay and coming out support groups who later became some of my best friends and we explored the gay scene together. One of those groups was the Gay Outdoor Club, where on one outing I happened to bump in to no other than Michael, my previous Community Psychiatric Nurse. Suddenly a few things from our conversations slotted into place; he knew a lot more about the topic than he was letting on.

As a result of all this, I felt much less alone and that being gay was in fact as normal as being straight. For a long while I had a straight life (work, family, old friends who didn’t know) and a secret gay life that happened mostly at the weekends. In time, I built the confidence to tell people in my straight life and gradually allowed these lives to merge together. It’s a lot harder telling people you’ve known for a long time that you’re gay than telling new friends. I suppose it feels like there’s much more to lose. And this probably comes down to perceived stigma around being gay. But it’s far less now than it has been in the past. Civil rights campaigns have brought about equality and in time this has helped those identifying as gay to open up about it. This has probably lead to a public perceptions of homosexuality becoming seen as quite normal, common and is generally accepted. There’s countless celebrities who have made their fame off the back of it and have broken out of the gay world in to the mainstream which has certainly also helped.

I’ve found that coming-out is something that never stops, but it does get easier. I don’t go around telling everyone, but it’s not uncommon for heteronormative statements to come up in conversation with new acquaintances. I made the decision long ago that I’d always use the right pronouns describing dating activities and latterly, my partner, and to not be evasive in response to any direct questions. I knew that if I couldn’t be honest with others, I wasn’t being honest with myself. Sometimes I still find this difficult. I don’t know why, but being gay is still personal to me and sometimes it’s not something I want to go into as part of light chit-chat with someone I’ve only just met. But that’s just how it is.

With bipolar, at least there was a clear demarcation point in my life. I’d become very unwell requiring hospital treatment and I had a Doctor giving me a diagnosis. But having someone tell you you’re a ‘thing’ doesn’t make it any easier to accept it. That’s a separate process I needed to undertake on my own. And that took a while. With my bipolar, it just seemed easier to hide. I felt ashamed of it. I definitely felt stigma towards it and telling others was and still is difficult. Generally I find most don’t really know how to respond when I open up about my mental health and it can result in being treated differently, particularly in a work context. I suppose the same is true of being gay, but it feels more intense when it comes to mental health. It’s also not the sort of thing that comes up in conversation so often. This makes it easier to avoid than with sexuality. I have to intentionally bring it in to the discussion. But for me I apply the same rules as to being gay. If someone asks me about it, I’ll never shy away from giving honest answers. This means that coming out as bipolar is as much of an ongoing process as coming out gay. There’s a few celebrities that have opened up about their mental health, and that’s a good thing. Having someone you can point to who has the same condition but also lives a perceivably ‘successful’ life helps normalise the condition in conversation.

I'm sure I'm far from the only one who is both gay and has a mental health diagnosis. If I were to draw a Venn diagram, the crossover is most likely quite large. In my case, I don't think being gay has triggered any consequential deterioration in my mental health; I knew about my bipolar first and I think it's my bipolar that has given me more pain in my life than my sexuality. That said, it is my bipolar gave my mind the freedom to explore the possibilities of my sexuality in the first place.

For others, I know their sexuality can lay a heavy burden upon them. Particularly if parents, relatives and friends are far from accepting. The rejection can quite predictably lead to depression or in some cases even worse outcomes. I find this so sad and frustrating. People are what people are. It's hard enough to come to terms with ones sexuality or psychiatric diagnosis without other people freaking out and projecting their insecurities and prejudices on to you. A little kindness and empathy from those close to you goes such a long way to helping provide time and space to deal with these things, to blossom in to your true self and then enable you carry on with with what you were doing before life threw you a curveball.

Finding yourself as gay and coming to terms with that can only lead us to experience the world in a different way than our heterosexual counterparts that haven't had to deal with all this stuff. We still live in a heteronormative society where being gay is still seen as different. But having done the 'self work' in dealing with all that comes with it can do nothing other than make us stronger and more compassionate people. The opportunities we get in life may also be different (despite equality laws) but there are now few things that gay people can't do that heterosexual couples can. All I can say is that being gay has perhaps complicated and delayed things a little in my life that would have been simpler and quicker had I not been gay. But overall I believe I've become a stronger, more resilient and more interesting person because of it. And all of the same apples just as much to my Bipolar.

To celebrate World Bipolar Day (30 March, Vincent Van Gogh's birthday, who was diagnosed with bipolar after he died) the Mary Frances Trust asked me some questions about my experience of Bipolar and I responded with some short videos.

If you've landed here from the Mary Frances Trust website or their social media, you will have seen the shortened (single video) version of my answers. Here on my website are the full versions, plus an extra bonus video. They're all pretty short at just about a minute each. If you're here from my personal social media you may have already seen the full videos - skip to the blog below.

​You might be surprised to hear how positive I am about being bipolar. But if I am being honest it hasn’t always been like this. I was first diagnosed with the condition 20 years ago and for the first 15 of those years, the condition very much had its grips over me. Various relapses have caused significant disruption to my life and I’ve had to pull myself out of the depths of bipolar depression too many times to recall. It’s caused me pain, anger, frustration and impeded me from living the life I wanted to live. I couldn’t go on like this. I couldn’t live my life in fear of the next episode. I couldn’t continue letting it decide my fate. The cycle needed to stop and I needed to take back control.

This all started with my last episode nearly five years ago. Work pressures led me to experience high levels of anxiety which in turn triggered my bipolar. My mood started to elevate and I found myself riding on the crest of a bipolar high. But it was different this time than it had been before. Previously my bipolar highs were very short-lived – a few days at most, before tipping the balance in to psychosis. This time I felt in control. I had noticed it. I was conscious of how it made me feel and behave, and I seemed to be able to tame it. Not only that, it didn’t just last a few days, it lasted for several months.

During this time my mind came alive, I felt I could do anything and no-one was getting in my way. I was more confident, decisive and creative. I was more social, energetic and fun. At last, inhibitions that held me back had subsided. I really felt like the best version of me. I took a more commanding role at work and progress picked up. Everything became clear. Solutions to difficult problems were obvious. It felt incredible and I didn’t want it to stop. Maybe bipolar really could be my superpower? I had become Super-Chris!

It turned out that this thing that had haunted me my whole adult life could actually be useful. However, staying in this state wasn’t easy. It was like balancing on a tightrope, yet somehow I was staying up there. And it is this experience I’m telling you about when I describe bipolar in the video.

Alas, sooner or later I would lose my balance and after five somewhat incredible months, I was admitted to a psychiatric ward. I clearly wasn’t quite as ‘in control’ as I thought.

During my recovery I decided that I was going to learn from the experience and use that to master the condition. And when I say that, it wasn’t about trying to control a bipolar high – as much as I’d love to do that, living life that close to the edge is just too risky. I wanted to master bipolar as a whole so that I’d never have to see the inside walls of a psychiatric ward ever again. To do that, I needed to understand it, how it affects me, and also accept it as part of who I am. And the latter, as it turned out, was the hardest part of all.

So, I decided I needed to go on a similar journey. I’d been writing journals to help me make sense of things and understand myself better for some time. The next step was to write something that other people would see. I initially started writing blogs for Mary Frances Trust. Then in July 2021 I joined the End Stigma Surrey mental health campaign as a Lived Experience Champion. Yes, I want to end stigma that’s associated with mental health, but it seemed the first person I needed to convince, and teach to live by that motto was me. Then in October 2022 I launched this website to tell my story – I was now out in the open publishing under my own name. This was a bold and difficult step for me and I agonised over it for months. However, putting my story out there has helped me; I’ve also come to realise that sharing my story is hugely powerful for others too. To help those currently in the grips of a condition but also to raise awareness – particularly of mental health difficulties among men.

Over the last few years I've made friends with my enemy and it has helped me to live a more authentic life. One where I can be completely honest with myself and with those around me. I’m comfortable opening up and talking about my bipolar and I no longer live life in fear of it. I used to be terrified of anyone finding out about my secret. I was even more terrified of a relapse. Now I’m not afraid. My bipolar is part of me and has made me who I am. In some ways I feel like it's made me a better person and I should be proud of it. Sure, I don’t want another relapse either, but I’m not so terrified if it does. I know how it affects me, what to do and how to recover. Not being scared makes it easier to talk about when I do struggle and this in turn makes me less likely to relapse.

I do sometimes reflect on how my life might have been different without bipolar. But I can't to get too upset about it. There's far worse conditions out there and this is one that, with a bit of effort, can be lived with fairly well. I now feel I'm able to live a life free of symptoms and I've been able to 'do things that normal people do'.  It's also for these reasons that I'm keen to bust the misconceptions people have about people who have suffered mental health conditions. 

This story just summarises my journey so far, and getting to the point where I can publish a blogs, put up a website and create videos for social media has been a gradual process and taken time. It's not something I'd have been comfortable with even just a few years ago. If you're reading this and in a similar position - it's the self acceptance part that is the most important. Telling the world won't be right for everyone - and even if you do decide to - there's often a right time to do so. I made sure I was well out of the woods in terms of my recovery so I could make a balanced and reasoned decision about what I was doing. Just remember, us survivors are a strong bunch. We get to breaking point because we care and we break because we care too much. It takes great strength to recover and we're stronger because we took a hard path and we absolutely did not stop until we pulled through. These are enviable qualities so don't let anyone, ever, put you down. Be proud of who you are and don't let anyone stop you from being you.​

​But what if they're not?

It’s now over 20 years since I packed my bags, flew the nest and headed off to University and it’s got me reflecting on my first impressions of University and how they didn’t necessarily meet up with my expectations. I’ve written this blog to provide some balance to the “it’ll be amazing” narrative that often goes alongside the preparation and expectation of Uni life in the hope that it might provide some perspective for other young people embarking on or thinking about University.

In the years before going to university, I listened to those who had been before or those that were currently there. In a similar ways to how people curate their social media posts to be the edited highlights of their life, the descriptions of University life I was hearing were the same edited highlights and built a hedonistic dream in my mind. This, as we’ll see, all happened at a time when I was not only struggling with engrained, yet unrecognised or diagnosed anxiety and wellbeing issues, but I was also deeply impressionable. I believed in the dream.

University was the light at the end of the tunnel during my A-Levels. If there was ever two years of my life that I would never want to repeat again, it’ll be my A-levels. I’d done well at my GCSEs, well enough that it allowed me to move schools from the local Comprehensive to the Grammar school in the adjacent town. It had its benefits, but it was tough as well. I left all my friends behind and had to break in to existing and established friendship groups at the new school. Most people by that point had made their friends during their preceding years at school and weren’t particularly interested in me.

I distinctly remember my first day there dressed in my cheap suit from Sainsburys, new shiny black shoes and leather satchel style briefcase I’d got from TK Maxx to try and look grown up. The hot topic of conversation was GCSE results. Now, compared to my peers at my previous school, I’d done well with a smattering of grades across the spectrum. But then this all changed as I started listening in to the conversations others were having about their grades. It was all 11 A*. No one, it seemed, got anywhere near any smelly B grades. I gulped, and quietly hoped the wouldn’t ask me how I did.

Back at home, my brother who is two years older than me, had just received his A-Level results that summer. Let’s just say he didn’t do so well. He is actually really smart, a quick learner and I’d just spent the last 16 years of my life having to put up with him beating me at practically everything. If he couldn’t do A-Levels, what hope did that give me?

An inferiority complex was born. A seed of anxiety was planted. During this period I thought of little else other than ‘getting in to a good university’. So I worked. I worked so hard, studied twice, three times as much as I needed to – just to be sure – so that I would get those grades. I studied every night except Friday – that was Explorer Scouts night. I studied at least a day at the weekend. When I wasn’t studying I felt guilty that I should be.

I got seriously stressed before exams and I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep the night before. I was miserable and I hated it. It was amazing that my Bipolar Disorder didn’t make itself known; that was saving itself for another time. But, I told myself, all this is only temporary. Once I’ve got in to University it’ll all be worth it and life will be better.

​Whilst studying for my A-Levels I also visited various Universities and met students that appeared to be having a great time enjoying their courses and Uni life. Also I recall family friends, relatives and other influential figures in my life reflecting on their own student experiences and waxing lyrical about how they were “the best years of their lives”. They’d yarn on about having little responsibility or commitment; long, free, sunny afternoons spent in the bar or how they met so many of their best friends at Uni. Some even met their now husband/wife partner while there. It was like Uni solved all their problems and was a euphoric oasis before the grind of working life started a few years later.

This to me, as someone who, at the time (and only now on reflection) was suffering with Generalised Anxiety Disorder for the past few years brought on my GCSEs and A-Levels, created a vison of pure nirvana – the final escape I’d been looking for.

But just like an oasis far away in a desert or a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I hadn’t thought about (or wanted to think about) the fact that the oasis could be a mirage and the pot of gold may get further away the closer I got to it. But, to me, University was what all my hard work had been about and it was going to be amazing!

What’s nice about University is it’s an opportunity to make a fresh start. To embrace the person you are. You will be seen as the person you present yourself as today. No-one knows anything about you except what you wish to share. You can shake off character traits that you feel hold you back. You can let go of behaviours that are expected of you by your parents or school. You can really be who you are or who you want to be. Want to be known by a new nickname? Go for it! Want to come out as gay? You’ve nothing to lose – people will just accept you as you are.

So much of my hopes and dreams around University were based on it being that fresh start and meeting new people who you’ll form new friendships for life. I thought this would be quick and I thought this would be easy. At least, compared to my change to Grammar School – everyone was in the same boat – no-one knew anyone else and everyone wanted to make new friends. Did I ‘click’ with everyone I met? No, not by a long shot.

This was the part of my experience which was much harder than I thought it would be. For some reason I thought I’d immediately become best mates with everyone I met, certainly the 10 other people I shared a house with in my student halls. And, it’s here when the challenges started for me. I just struggled to find anyone in my halls I could connect with. I’d unwittingly found myself in a house with no-one who would be going to the same lectures as me.

Then there was the general chat: the courses people were doing in my house were sporty and for those that weren’t, football was all they wanted to talk about. I never enjoyed sport at school and I don’t ‘support a team’ or have any enthusiasm for it at all. I immediately felt like an outsider. I wasn’t part of the cool crew.

This was a setback for me and was a hard hitting ‘first impression’ of University life. A few stitches that held together my university dream were coming undone.

I’d just joined a University of c10,000 students. Most Universities are very big places, with inconceivable scale compared to school. My Grammar school, I think was about 800 pupils. This makes it a daunting prospect for finding friends. So many new people are around you who are all different in their own ways.

The first people you meet might not necessarily the ones you stick with, and that’s ok. You need to meet a lot of people before you find the ones that become you’re new besties. If you’re lucky, you’ll find someone in your halls. If you don’t, maybe you’ll be well matched with someone as a lab partner on your course. But maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll strike up conversation with someone after a lecture, or meet someone through a club or society.

What I learned was it’s best not to ‘expect’ to just be able to ‘replace’ your friendship group you had at home. Finding friends like those you’ve known for a long time will, I’m afraid, take time. But the best bit – you friendship group ‘back home’ is still your friendship group. It’s easy to get caught up in your new Uni life – don’t forget about your old friends. Dial them up from time to time. They’ll likely be going through the same struggles during their first few weeks, so catch up with them and share how you’re doing.

It’s odd how just having some familiar people around creates an easy feeling of company. You don’t need to be doing anything in particular or even talking. Just being there is enough. That’s often the case with family at home. You could spend time in your room but you knew you could just burst in to your brother’s room and interrupt whatever he’s doing or sooner or later you’d be getting together for lunch or dinner. Before going to Uni I always thought that people would leave their doors open and always be easy for a chat. But this didn’t seem to be the case.

After meals, people would either go straight to their rooms or head out. And if you didn’t want to go out drinking or clubbing with them (cos you weren’t part of the cool footie crew) you were left on your own, in your room. And there wasn’t much to do.

I’d go home for the weekend every few weeks. It was odd how going home for the weekend seemed to make me feel so much less alone. I wouldn’t necessarily ‘do’ anything when at home to occupy myself any more than I would while at Uni, but the familiarity and just having people around was enough so I didn’t feel isolated.

​We now live in an ‘always-on’ society. The issues that I faced with staying connected have largely been overcome by the advent of smartphones and wifi everywhere. But, even with the tech at your fingertips, it’s still possible to feel isolated in an otherwise connected world. These are my tips to help. They’re nothing radical but worth stating:

​Adapting to some elements of student culture came as a challenge for me too. I thought that maybe I’d enjoy clubbing, all night drinking and the like. But actually, I found it very confusing and learned not to like it and at the time I didn’t really know why. When you break down the fundamentals of what parties and clubs are about – they’re about meeting people. But not about meeting people to debate the hot topics of the week – no, it’s to dance, to have fun, and find someone to leave the club night with that you hadn’t arrived with. In short, people don’t go looking for friends, they’re looking for dates.

And what I hadn’t worked out, at the tender age of 18 when I started at Uni, was that I had no interest in girls. I also didn’t understand how I felt about guys. This made clubbing very awkward for me. I’d agree to go along with a group of friends. What I didn’t know is was at the back of their mind, they were looking for girls. I wasn’t. I wasn’t looking for guys either. I just went along. And as such I found night clubs not to be particularly interesting ways to spend an evening. Sure, I’d play along. I’d dance with girls as that’s what everyone else did, but I had absolutely no intent of making any moves on a girl. I was fearful, even, of anything happening. I didn’t know what to do or how to do it, or as it seemed, be very interested in finding out.

I didn’t think I was gay because I didn’t think I was different from anyone else. And I didn’t know how to make sense of my emotions, or lack thereof. Looking back – I had gay tendencies. Some signs were there but I didn’t know how to deal with them. I can always recall walking down the street – and I’d turn my head to look at a good looking guy, and completely breeze past the tall blond bombshell that all my mates were looking at. It was a bit like football to me. In the same way I found myself with a group of people that bonded over talking about football – to which I had no interest – it was the same with girls – they’d all get excited chat for hours about them and I just didn’t really understand why, nor feel at all interested in contributing to the conversation. I just accepted it as one of those things. I didn’t understand how I was different or what it meant, nor was I able to process these thoughts. Sadly, I wouldn’t suss this one out until a good few years later, and well after University had finished.

As we got in to the second semester, I’d started to feel more comfortable with Uni life. I’d got used to taking responsibility for my daily living, and the mundane tasks of shopping, cooking and washing. I got more involved with clubs and societies and I formed a wider base of friends and was less reliant on those I’d been put with in my halls. I’d made friends across a number of different student halls as well as with people on my course. I’d also got involved helping out at a local Explorer Scout Unit that was round the corner from the University – somewhere that I really felt at home. They were very welcoming and I very quickly felt like I fitted right in.

I’d found a small group to live with as we moved in to year two and we’d be renting a house in the city together.

​From the start of term, I had this niggling feeling in the back of my mind that I was on the wrong course. I was doing Electronic and Electrical Engineering.

It was also what my Dad had studied, albeit not at University, and what my brother was doing too. But as we got in to the term, I felt no passion for it. Of course, a lot was changing at the start of term, and the general advice was to stick with it – you can’t drop out a few weeks in. And so I did. But this niggling feeling didn’t go away. Eventually, I plucked up the courage to talk to the Physics department. Physics was the subject I enjoyed most at school and it was always a toss up between studying Physics or Elec Eng. It was agreed that I could do some extra study during the summer holidays, and then continue in to year two at the start of the next academic year. This was a great relief, and felt like a good plan. But, I still had to pass my first year in Elec Eng.

As the end of the first academic year drew closer, I started burning the candle at both ends. I was studying hard – and previous anxieties around GCSE/A-level exams had returned. I would go out for late night parties. I would do all-nighters to get course work finished and the same for exams. I was feeling energised about life and my mood, at long last I was feeling good.

That was, until my world came crashing down around me after I’d packed up and headed home after the final exam (and probably final party!) of the semester. Only a few days later I found myself in a mental health ward where after a few weeks I’d been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. Bipolar disorder is a disorder of mood, and it means that people with it can experience extremes of mood – elation or depression and swings between the two. Had this been happening to me, at a lesser extent from getting through my A-levels – and experiencing the relief and high, to then hitting some lows when faced with the realities at Uni? Then as I settled in, my mood started to improve, but then went too far? It’s difficult to say. But none-the-less, it’s possible that my Bipolar Disorder may have also played a role in the challenges I faced in my first year at Uni.

​I remember wandering about campus of an evening during my first year. Not really knowing where to go or what to do. I’d often ring home at one of the phone booths, or be checking my emails in the library, and then not be in any particular rush to head back to my room.

There was one sign that I remember seeing, again and again, but I failed to take action on it.

Now, I don’t remember quite what the wording was, or even the service it was advertising – only that it felt like it spoke to me. It described some traits that matched how I was feeling – low, isolated, lonely, overwhelmed, unsure of what you’re doing – and gave a phone number and said speak to your Students’ Union. I never did.

Seek help if you need to. Start with your Students’ union or your Universities student support services. It’s likely they’ll have a helpline or counselling service. If no-one used them, they wouldn’t be there. Genuinely – they’re waiting to help you if you need it.

I write this piece because I’m sure there’s others out there, like me, who are or who have struggled with adapting to University life. I’m also sure there’s others out there that feel like they’re ‘living the dream’ but from time to time will still have their doubts. The world is a big place, and finding your place in it can be difficult and confusing. Yet for so many they find themselves trying to work this out in unfamiliar surroundings, on their own with in sufficient information or support to guide them – at University.

There’s so much expectation put upon our young people these days, and the levels of pressure they are put under from their early teens through to their early twenties to do well at school, A-levels and University is immense. These are external pressures put on our young people by teachers, parents and society at large – to conform – to follow this ‘default’ path that is supposed to lead to fulfilment and happiness – but can’t possibly for everyone.

Unfortunately this neglects to consider the diverse wants and needs of each individual caught up in the process. There’s a lot to work out as you struggle with puberty, choosing your ‘options’ for GCSE, choosing your A-levels and learning to drive. As you get your first job and you try things like alcohol, your first smoke and have your first liaisons with girls – and try and work out whether you like it or not.

Choosing your degree subject feels like the biggest and most important decision you’ll ever make in your entire life, although it isn’t really. You’ll think it’s one that will affect the job you get and the life you lead for decades to come. It’s a lot to deal with and it’s too much to deal with at such a young age. It’s so hard to work out who you are or what you are, and sometimes you’ll have thoughts or feelings that don’t sit comfortably with you – which you may not understand or know why you get them. Outwardly everyone else might look like they’re ‘sorted’ and it’s just you in this wibbly wobbly mess – but everyone goes through it in one way or another – to find out who they are, what they want from life and how they want to lead their lives. It’s different for everyone and the sausage machine that we stuff our young people through from 13-23 really doesn’t make it easy.

As I grow older, I’ve come to realise that I’m an ongoing project. One that changes every day. When I look back at the ‘me’ of twenty years ago at University, I see a very different person, as I do when I look at the me of ten years ago or even last week or yesterday. I’m always learning, changing, and evolving and making sense of who I am and my place on this planet will never stop. I write personal journals and entries to this blog because it helps me encapsulate my life experiences at different times of my life and I can look back at how I’ve changed. Yet as I approach 40, I’m still struggling with some fundamentals of who I am, what I want to be and how I should live my life. That’s how it’s always been, how it always will be and how I like it. If it stops, then I’ve probably stopped living.

University is a phase, not an end, nor a beginning. It’s a time-bucket of life where you’ll have a set of experiences. It doesn’t mark ‘the end’ of learning or of growing up and becoming an adult. It won’t solve all your problems and you’ll still have a ton of stuff to work through when it’s over. Enjoy it the best you can; prepare for uncertainties and difficulties; expect that at least at one point you’ll need to call on some emotional support from a helpline/chat service or some counselling.

Life has just thrown one hell of a lot at you all in one go – but you will get through it. And it will be fun, most of the time, just not all of the time.

​My advice is based on an experience 20 years ago. I'd be fascinated to hear stories from anyone who has graduated either before me, or more recently to see how the experience has changed over time.

Thursday 2 February was "Time to Talk" day. It's a campaign sponsored by the mental health charity Mind to encourage people to take a moment out of their busy day to pause and check-in with friends, family and colleagues about how they are feeling and ask about their mental health.
​
This year I supported the conversation in my role as a Lived Experience Champion for the End Stigma Surrey anti-discrimination campaign. This was the first time in my role as a Champion that I had approached members of the general public out of the blue to engage in discussions about mental health. This post shares some of my insights gained from my conversations on the day and how two things kept coming up that stopped people taking action to improve their mental health. These were having the time and the shame created out of stigma. But is this really what's stopping us or are these just lies we tell ourselves so we keep putting it off? Lets find out.

As an End Stigma Champion the most interesting conversations for me were the ones where I actually detected a note of stigma. During the day the most striking remark on the surface sounded like the mental health panacea we've all been looking for:

Darn it! If only I'd known that before. Everyone look busy and you'll be ok! I'm expert at "looking busy" and it turns out that's all I had to do for the dark cloud of bipolar disorder to shimmy on past me and rain down on the next person.

What was particularly striking was that this remark embodied not just stigma towards others fighting against a bona fide medical condition but potentially also an element internalised stigma that may prevent this individual from allowing herself to seek support if she needed it. The feeling I got was regardless of what might be happening in her life she would never allow her self to identify as "one of those people".

But as we know, it doesn't work like that. Mental ill-health does not discriminate; rich or poor, young or old, busy or lazy. It's just the same as any physical condition - it'll strike you down when you least expect it. You can't just decide that you're "too busy" for that migraine, stomach ache, virus or worse, and expect that by magic it'll go away just because you've too much to do - despite how much you might wish it would.

What left me a little sad was that I sensed from our conversation that her own wellbeing wasn't in a particularly good place. I felt that if she were more open towards understanding issues surrounding mental health that it might allow her to take steps to improve her wellbeing and enjoyment of life, but it was clear to me she really didn't want to continue this conversation about this thing that only affects those other people who where clearly just lazy.

On balance, I think there is an element of truth in what she was saying. Keeping yourself active and occupied is no doubt good for your mental health. Not only that, poor mental wellbeing can indeed be ignored for a while - just like you can ignore persistent physical pain - but it's not advisable to do so forever. Persistent physical pain typically suggests something more sinister may be happening under the surface so its worth getting it checked out. It's the same with your mental health. Left unchecked and without seeking the support of charities or professionals, sooner or later it'll strike you down. But all too often asking for help just seems like a bridge too far - and stigma can sit behind this too.

Stigma from others can also stop people asking for help. This became clear when I spoke with another lady. She described how she had this "thing". She didn't really know how to describe it other than she knew she'd always felt like it and when it happens she just needs to hide her self away for a few days to get through it. She knew that it wasn't right and also that asking for help was the right thing to do. But what was stopping her was the expectation of others.

As she spoke these words there was clear relief running through her body. She'd clearly been keeping these powerful emotions inside for too long and to finally tell someone was a huge weight off her mind. I was humbled that she'd chosen to confide in me.

In her case it was close family members that had created a stigma about mental health and had prevented her from seeking the support she needed. As we spoke I took a moment to express how I have struggled with asking for help in the past. My case is slightly different in that I always think "I'm not bad enough" and that "it'll get better on it's own" but I used it as a way to try and show that she's not only one that finds it hard to ask for help and also to try and show its ok to do so.

​What was particularly challenging was how she found it so difficult to actually describe what was happening to her. It made asking for help all the much harder. Maybe all she needed to say is "there's something wrong and I don't know what it is" and let the conversation go from there. We talked about different ways of asking for help that might make this easier - such as by emailing a support service - which would allow her to take time to describe the feelings and emotions that are affecting her. The organisation might follow up with a phone call but at least it's got that awkward bit of trying to explain the problem out of the way.

​I know how tough it is to experience mental health difficulties and not know what it is. This was one of the worst parts about the first time I fell ill with my bipolar disorder when I was 19. I just didn't know what was happening to me and also whether or not I'd be like it forever. Getting a diagnosis was a great relief. It meant that it was treatable and that I probably wouldn't feel like that forever. It also meant that I could find out more about the condition online, engage with others at support groups and learn about other peoples experiences from books, films and documentaries. All of these things helped me feel less alone by realising "it's not just me" and enabled me to learn new ways to become more resilient and live with the condition.

Throughout the day I had the opportunity to engage in a range of different conversations with people from all backgrounds. With some, the conversation remained quite superficial; others were willing trust me enough to bare all and share their deepest fears and challenges - something that caught be quite by surprise. As much as I wanted to help, I couldn't. That's not for me to do; after all I'm not a counsellor or medical practitioner - in fact I have no mental health qualifications at all beyond my own hard fought experience.  And for that, I felt crap.

It made me completely call in to question the value I'm adding as an End Stigma Champion. If all I could do was start a conversation about mental health, what good is that when you identify someone really in need of support? Of course, I can signpost to supporting organisations, but I felt I should be doing more.

As the day came to a close I did come to one resounding conclusion which did, thankfully, reinforce the importance of what we do at End Stigma Surrey and make it all feel completely worthwhile.

Time to talk day is all about "making time" for your mental health. It's about making the conscious decision that your mental health is as important as your physical health and worthy of your time to look after it.  We all live busy lives and may often remark that we're "too busy" to do something. But, every one of us has agency over our own lives. When we're stuck in the monotony of the daily grind this may be hard to see; but we do. Everyone has choice over what we believe to be important and what we spend our time doing. 

If you think you're "too busy" to look after your mental health, take a moment to undertake a time audit of your day and identify some of the time sinks you're not "too busy" for. I bet you "make time" for your favorite TV show, find time to scroll through the latest updates on social media or complete a daily puzzle game? How important are these activities, really? The 20-30 minutes these activities take are all you need to check in with your mental health and take steps to improve it. Taking just 20 minutes for a conversation about your wellbeing and mental health could change your life. 

I know it's hard and that's why we put it off.  And that's not entirely your fault. Its the stigma surrounding mental health that makes this feel too difficult. And that's why we continue to campaign and raise awareness of the ubiquitous, yet too often unseen nature of mental health struggles.

Our End Stigma campaign is about helping people "make time" for their mental health and start a conversation about it.  Whilst this may be as far as we go in terms of providing support - this is the first step that's needed on a path to improved health and wellbeing. It is, therefore, the most important step. Without our campaign challenging societal stigma surrounding mental health and making it OK to talk about how we're feeling, those in most need would continue fighting their internal demons in silence. And it is for this reason that I feel what I do as an End Stigma Champion is vitally important. 

​It's about breaking down these invisible barriers to talking about wellbeing and mental health to enable progress to the next step of accessing professional help. We might just be the first link in the chain - but without it, there is no chain.

​Finding a few minutes a day for your mental health and wellbeing can be hugely empowering. When I was "too busy" to fit in anything else and every minute felt "double counted for" what I really needed was to find some zen like calm amongst all the craziness.

I had to make the decision create space in my life to make a change. To do this I started meditating for just a few minutes a day.  It was hard to find the time but it started me on a path of restoring agency over my life. And it wasn't long before the benefits of this first step allowed me to make changes in other aspects of my life to further improve my wellbeing.

We fight stigma to make it ok for everyone to start their journey to improved mental wellbeing. Mental health affects a surprising number of people. But, because it's invisible everyone it affects thinks they're the only one. Add old fashioned attitudes that stigmatize mental ill health in to the mix and it creates feelings of shame that we want to hide from. If you're having a tough time mentally you just need to know that the way you feel is normal. By opening up you'll soon find friends, colleagues or new contacts who have felt the same way and when you do this you'll realise that stigma not the big issue you thought it was.

​So, what are you going to do to regain control over how you feel? What small action could you take today to improve your wellbeing that you'll thank yourself for tomorrow? It just takes a moment to decide you want to make a change and a few minutes to take that first step.

​If you're reading this and feel you need to talk to someone, the crisis support page on the Mary Frances Trust website has details of both local (to Surrey) and national organisations that exist for this purpose and are there hoping you'll pick up the phone. If you're local to Surrey, you can of course reach out to the Mary Frances Trust directly.

​Talking, we all do it everyday. Some people will use a thousand words when one will do; others chose their words more carefully. Talk is cheap. Talk is easy. But some topics come more freely than others. When it really counts; when it really matters; talking can seem like the hardest thing to do. But it's these conversations that can reap the most powerful benefits. Talk can, indeed, be your tonic; better than any drug a doctor can prescribe.

One of these difficult topics, particularly for men, is to talk about how we're feeling. I know people who will go to great lengths to avoid telling you how they really feel. They'll only give short, sharp, one word answers and show a desire to move the conversation on. Now, I get it. There's often a time and a place for these deeper sorts of conversations. Whenever we phone someone, or meet someone briefly in a corridor, we say 'hi, how are you', but in all honesty, in these situations we're just being civil, we're not really expecting anything more than 'yeah, sure, fine thanks'. But sometimes it's well worth making the time for someone.

Often, we don't talk because we don't want to burden someone else with our problems. Similarly if someone knows you're going through tough times they might not open up to you because they don't want to add to your problems - when actually from their perspective they'd be only too pleased to talk to you - to realise they're not alone but also to share their own advice for getting through it. There's also that everyone wants to create an impression of being 'sorted' and having it all together. This then actually makes it much harder if your world starts falling apart. You don't want to admit to others that things aren't what they were but more than that, you don't want to admit it to yourself.

I've heard people say 'oh what's the point - talking won't change anything' - but change comes from inside. First you need to understand the complex and powerful emotional thing that's wrapped up inside you and you can only do that by trying to explain it and letting the bad energy out. However, when life is tough and you're going through the wringer, talking can be a powerful tool to change how you feel, to process emotions and to put things in to perspective. And there's so many ways to do it. It doesn't have to be to another person and it doesn't have to done verbally.

Let's take an example. I'm the sort of person that ruminates. If you don't know what I mean by that then let me explain. Things happen day to day as they always do and I let certain situations cycle around in my head again and again. If you do this, maybe you also verbalise it - the classic 'talking to yourself' scenario? It steals your peace an enjoyment of life very easily. Ultimately what you're doing is rating point in the past or the future as more important than the present moment and you then live your life stuck there and completely miss your life in the the 'now'.

This was particularly bad at one point in my life when I was having a difficult time at work. I don't like confrontation. Yet, I'd often find myself thinking back over a conversation that was had that day and thinking about better responses to the arguments. I'd think 'I should have said this' or 'I should have said that' and I'd keep playing out different versions of the same scene again and again in my head. Then, as if that wasn't bad enough, I'd start imagining new situations that could happen and then let my mind run wild cycling through what I would say if they said 'this' or if they said 'that'. I'd do this all evening and sometimes also all weekend. I used to think that by doing this I'd be better prepared and would help me get my work done - but it's simply not true. By experimentation I found that by not thinking about work for a weekend and instead enjoying myself, when I went back to work I'd be recharged and have a fresh perspective - the answers came to me there and then much more quickly. I didn't need to be processing it all weekend.

This was something that I found difficult to discuss with anyone, least of all with my partner. I felt embarrassed about what was cycling around in my head as often it seemed silly. Not only that, it all just seemed too difficult to explain the context, even though really it would probably only have taken a few sentences. Talking to my partner was good for putting things in to perspective and it helped me to stop worrying about it. However, my ruminating was happening a lot so I needed to find other ways of dealing with it.

​One of my coping mechanisms was to start journaling. Very simply, I'd write down the narrative that was cycling around in my head. Once I'd done this, something incredible happened. Once it was down on the page, carefully written out and edited to be 'the best version of the conversation' my brain let me stop thinking about it. My anxiety levels dropped and I was able to return to the present moment again. I was able to enjoy what I was doing now - something that my rumination had stolen from me. And the reason for this was very simple. Once I had got it 'out' and down on a page it was there in front of me. I didn't need to remember it any more - because if I want to go back to it - I could just open the notes and there it was.

​But sometimes I wasn't in the mood to write or didn't feel like I had the time. Like for example when lying in bed and all I want to do is go to sleep but my brain won't let me - as it's got something spinning around again and again. For this, I started doing short videos in to my phone. I'd pause and think about what it was spinning around in my head and what I'd want to say. Then, I'd give myself no more than 3 minutes to say what was on my mind in to the camera. I'd say it, then watch it back once. It would have the same effect. Now I'd stored this memory on my phone, I no longer needed to store it in my head, and I was able to go to sleep.

​I've also had friends that say they talk to their pets, and this works for them. I guess doing this feels safe and unintimidating Just like my journal page or video camera - your cat can't answer back, but this does still provide a way for you to process those raw and powerful emotions by verbalising your thoughts and explaining them in a way you think your cat could understand.

Where I believe these techniques get their power is being able to say something, in the way you want to say it, without having to worry about somebody else's response. That in itself is quite is liberating. So, the conclusion here is that rationalising with yourself is fine, as long as you're capturing it - in written or video form, or indeed to your cat if she's listening carefully.

​I think the difference here is that sometimes when talking to someone else we find ourselves being more guarded. We don't want to say what's really bothering us, at least not at first. As a ruminator, talking to someone else about what's going on in my head creates the Russian Doll of all rumination situations: a conversation in a conversation. I'd have the original issue spinning around in my head, then before talking to someone else I'll start another conversation in my head about what I'd say to them about the first conversation. And that second conversation would also then start spinning around again and again as I work through each and every way that person could respond to what I'm saying and then what I'd say if they said 'this' or said 'that'. Who knew that simply talking to someone could become so difficult?

So this is why in so many cases we just don't do it. It's seems so much easier to bottle it up and try and ignore it. But, we can only do this for so long. This illustrates the importance of being a good listener if someone does want to talk you. At first they need to get the 'script' off of their chest. They've been practising what they want to say for hours, so it's important to let that just flow. Be open and nod encouragingly to let them say what they need to say. Only then when it feels like they've said what they had planned should you start responding to shape it in to a two way conversation.

Talking to friends or loved ones can be hard, mainly as you feel like you may be judged and you don't want to change the way they perceive you. Instead, it can be easier to speak to someone you don't know and I think that highlights the value of other forums. For example, I go to a local walking group called Walk and Talk for Men. It's a national group that run events all over the country. If you're looking for information specifically about the Surrey group then check out their Instagram page. What I like about this group is there's no pressure to talk about anything 'feelings' or 'mental health' related, but you just know that if you want to have that sort of conversation you can and you won't be judged. After all, everyone is there because they want to do something for the benefit of their mental health. The group changes a bit month on month so there's always the opportunity to meet someone new.

Another avenue if you, like me, find talking to someone you don't know a little easier are the many helplines that are available, such as the Samaritans. They can help you by being that good listener, by reframing your thoughts and helping you create some action steps for going forward. I always used to worry that these services were for other people and that I wasn't 'bad enough'. The trouble is, where do you set your threshold between what is just normal day to day stuff and actually accepting that there's something's not right here. And that's a difficult call. But if you've been reading my story about ruminating and it's sounding familiar then you have my permission to give them a call and to be confident you're not wasting their time.

But in this modern world, speaking isn't the only way we can chat. Many helpline services instant messaging. Notably 'Shout' is a free, anonymous and confidential texting service. And for some reason, we often find it easier to chat with our fingers in this less formal way.

So, if you've go this far - you will have tried writing it down, making a recording in to your phone or speaking to your cat; you may have tried talking to a friend, or texting someone or even with a helpline - and perhaps you're not feeling any better? If you're still stuck in the position when all you can do is anxiously think about the same situations again and again then it's time to pause and take stock. Being like this for any length of time is very bad for your mental health and if left unchecked, it could deteriorate very quickly. Not only is this stealing the current moment from you - whatever you're doing in the now you can't enjoy - but it is also very tiring. It doesn't allow your mind to calm down and switch off. And the brain needs rest. If it's constantly thinking unpleasant thoughts it's not long before you get burnt out and more serious issues can arise.

​The next step may be to reach out for some medical support. But that comes with it's own challenges. If you decide you do want to reach out for some support, even before doing it I've always felt there's an element of feeling like I have to accept the diagnosis before it's been given. The thought process I struggle with is that by going to the doctor, I must by definition be ill. This never seems to be an issue when going to see them about a cold or a sore throat, but for some reason it becomes a barrier if the issue is mental health related. To go to the doctors and say you're struggling with stress, anxiety or depression means you need to first accept that its a problem; and that's a very hard first step. You also need to get over any pre-conceived ideas about the sorts of people that have mental health conditions and what you think they may look like or the way in which they may behave. You must come to understand that what's happening to you happens to a lot of other people too. It's perfectly normal and that if you ask for help you will be listened to and you will be taken seriously.

​If there's one thing that you take from this, it is the power of talking to process your emotions. If you can succeed at doing this it will have a big impact on improving your mental health and wellbeing. Men in particular, statistically, find this more difficult but I hope this blog has given you some ideas to help you find a way to 'talk' that feels safe and comfortable for you. It doesn't always have to be to another person and it doesn't have to be using the spoken word so don't let these be barriers from stopping you working through what's going on and accessing any support you need.

They say never meet your heroes. I don't believe it. When making a big decision, such as whether to come out to the world with something as deep and personal as a mental health diagnosis, meeting someone who's walked that path, been there, done it and is proud of it makes the decision so much easier.

A few weeks ago I was at the launch of the End Stigma Surrey campaign. On running order to speak at the event was Sefik Villasante and I was very excited about the possibility to meet and chat with him.

I'd previously read his book, There's No Shame, and had been inspired by is story of recovery and by the way he'd taken the bold move to quit the rat race and devote his life to a mission of improving mental health awareness and helping others as a speaker, facilitator, a writer and coach.

On stage, I watched as he described his persona as a 'gameshow host'. He was positive, energetic and confident. It was evident he felt no shame in sharing his story of how he'd survived not one but two suicide attempts. He clearly has a guardian angel. This is what we need more of, to break the stigma and get people talking. Yes, the issues are serious, but it's not all doom and gloom and we must always focus on the brighter side. Getting through it, recovery and living better lives. And just as my mental health episodes had been a catalyst for change in my life, it became clear that the same was true for Sefik.

Upon meeting him I was struck by his warmth and empathy and that even though we'd only just met we found a huge amount in common in a very short conversation. I opened up to Sefik about my desire to get my story out there and I shared my fears with him. His response was powerful and inspiring.

These words had a profound impact on me. And it's true: having to keep my condition a secret is preventing me from showing up as my true authentic self in everyday life. At home, with my friends and with my colleagues. Far from this secret protecting me, I feel it's actually strangling me and holding me back from being everything I can be. This website is the product of that conversation.

Of course, there will be people who say this is the wrong decision I'm sure, as will there be people who'll be only too quick to apply some derogatory ill informed label, but as Sefik says, I need to stop caring about them. I need instead to focus on the people who will respect my story, be able to learn from it and find strength for their own lives. These people, to me, have to be more important than any one else.

If Stephen Fry can do it, Robbie Williams can do it, George Ezra can do it. If Roman Kemp can do it, Dr Alex George can do it, Josh Cuthbert can do it. Then I can do it.

 At last, this is my story, in my own words, in the way that I want to tell it.

​A few weeks ago I was delighted to have been asked to give a talk at the official launch of the End Stigma Surrey campaign in the Horton Arts Centre near Epsom. It was a perfect venue such an event as the Horton used to be the Chapel supporting the residents of the extensive mental health hospitals in the area that have subsequently closed and been redeveloped in to 'exclusive' apartments and houses. Importantly for me, this was the first time that I'd opened up publicly about my condition. Prior to that, I'd only been open in small groups - small groups where everyone in that group has the same or similar credentials. However, even in a room of 80 or so people, it still felt like a safe space and that the audience were rooting for me and not judging me. My opening line was:

I owned the statement. It felt good to be able to say it without feeling like the audience would think less of me. But this shouldn't just be the case in a room of individuals from, or with an interest in, the mental health sector who understand what this means; it should be acceptable in daily life in just the same way as someone getting up and saying:

No-one would think any less of me for that, or think that I wouldn't be able to do certain things again once my leg has healed. It should be the same with mental health.

I was notably careful of the wording. I said 'have a diagnosis of bipolar disorder' rather than 'have bipolar disorder'. That's because bipolar disorder is just part of who I am. It does not define me. It does not limit me.

In my talk I spoke about the great improvements that have been made in recent years to promote good mental health and wellbeing in the workplace. I was able to give an example of a company where new policies have been put in place, initiatives such as Mental Health First Aiders had become established, how Wellbeing Hubs have popped up and Employee Assistance Programmes (EAPs) - which feature free counselling and access to GP services are available. Not only this, it's a workplace where mental health topics have crept in to the office vernacular. Mental Health days are being marked in the office with free cakes on 'time to talk day'; the Action for Happiness calendar is being sent round on a monthly basis; and mental health topics have become acceptable as 'Safety Moments' at the start of meetings.  A 'Safety Moment' for those not familiar with the term is traditionally a brief reflection at the start of a meeting to make note of something we can all do to help maintain the safety of ourselves or others in the office and on the Company's clients' sites. Here, it had become acceptable for this to now include topics relating to wellbeing and mental health.

This is incredible progress - but it hadn't happened purely out of kindness; lost work days to poor mental health hit the bottom line. But more than this, getting mental health support right is not only important for profits, it matters to get the best from your workforce; it'll reduce sick days and improve retention of your best staff who may be silently facing burn-out and considering other options.

You may be thinking there's no more to do.  Put your soap box and your loud hailer away.​  However, being able to 'talk-the-talk' is one thing. Taking the right approach with individuals who have succumbed to some form of mental ill-health is more difficult. It's more difficult because despite having all the right foundations laid, the right messaging in place and the right support from central HR functions - what matters on a day to day basis are the attitudes and beliefs of your individual managers. In my talk I went on to describe how this was where things became unstuck.

After my bipolar episode in 2020 I returned to work well and ready to pick up from where I left off. However, unfortunately no sooner had I returned, then there was a reorganisation which removed me from my previous position. I was left demoted and left me working under someone without experience or relevant skills for the role. At the time I remember it having a desperate impact on my wellbeing. I became angry and resentful. It left me feeling weak and incapable and like I was some sort of embarrassment and couldn't be trusted. Not good, at a time when I was still a bit sensitive and trying to rebuild my confidence.

It may have been that this manager thought they were protecting me. Quite reasonably they didn't want me to fall ill again. But what they did had the opposite effect. The most difficult bit for me was that it came to me as a 'decision from on high'. There wasn't any discussion about it or consideration of other support options. It was like they were frightened to talk about the topic: "sssh, don't mention mental illness". All that was needed was a simple conversation in a similar way to someone returning to work after a physical illness, such as to:

• Start a conversation and involve me in decision process.
• Ask me what support would help me do my job. After-all, I knew my job best.
• Offer up suggestions for things that could help but stop short of mandating them. Perhaps a mentor or a buddy from another team to provide support and advice. Reduced responsibilities is an option and may be right for some, but it wasn't what I wanted. I'd put the effort in to getting well and I just wanted to crack on from where I left off.

I still don't know why this didn't happen. It seemed like such a simple and obvious thing to do. It was all that was needed in order to co-create an effective and tailored plan for my return to work would have benefitted both me and the organisation. I think it was simply a lack of insight and understanding by the manager of mental health issues and how they affect people. That they simply hadn't taken the time to get 'on-board' with the broader and much more enlightened attitudes towards mental health and wellbeing that had been adopted in recent years by the company.

On the whole, the company had been good to me in providing support for my wellbeing and mental health over the years, so I don't want to be overly critical. They had done a lot right and I'd benefitted from their new policies and a broad range of individual support options available.  However, a year after my return to work didn't get my former role back and I concluded it was time for me to move on.

It was such a shame, because despite incredible progress in terms of mental health support it was the attitudes and beliefs of just one individual that showed there's still a long way to go. Until we can change the hearts and minds of these individuals and talk about a mental health conditions in the same frank and non-biased way that we approach physical conditions we must continue to fight against stigma and campaign to improve knowledge about mental health. Importantly, we must demonstrate how capable and strong those who have experienced mental ill-health really are. A point which was proven a few weeks ago when a different manager from the company reached out to me wanting to encourage me back. Turned out he, and my previous client had missed me and still had a big gap to fill with some projects that now needed turning around.

The advice I gave to conclude my talk was simple and easy to remember: 

When I came out the other side of my most recent bipolar episode two and a half years ago, I was determined for some good to come of it. I wanted to help others. Help others avoid what I'd gone through; help others get through it; demonstrate that recovery and a normal life is not only possible but should be expected.

I wasn't sure in what form this help would take. Whether I would change my career direction and look to take a role directly supporting those experiencing mental health difficulties one-to-one or whether I could do something alongside my current work.

As mentioned in my first post, writing about my experience in the form of personal journals has become part of my life over the last few years. Initially I was doing this for it's cathartic benefits. Then, more recently I've started to write articles to share my experiences in the form of guest blogs for other sites. But, I haven't published them directly, or in a way that is attributed back to me.

I've come to realise that sharing my story could be hugely powerful. To help those currently in the grips of a condition but also to raise awareness - particularly of mental health difficulties among men. There just aren't many guys talking about this stuff. By being open myself it may encourage others to speak up if they're struggling - to a mate, family member or reach out to a helpline or healthcare practitioner.

By not coming forward and sharing my story I'm indefinitely failing to fulfil the promise I made to myself to find a way to help others. So, now two and a half years on from my last episode and 20 years since my original diagnosis, why haven't I put myself out there?

Put simply, I've just been too scared to share. And it comes down to good old fashioned mental health stigma. My concern, deep down, is that if I come forward and make it known that I'm someone that has experienced serious mental health difficulties in the past that people might think differently of me and treat me differently.

My biggest concern has always been that opportunities I might otherwise be offered may no longer be forthcoming. That if I look to change jobs and a potential employer searches for me online and finds out my history, that I could be discounted from the role without further consideration. All just because I've a mental health diagnosis - even though I'm fully recovered and it doesn't affect my professional abilities. And I don't think these are completely unfounded fears. Connie, who has been hugely encouraging to me on this journey kindly added some balance about the impact being open could have.

This statement resonates so much with me and it encapsulates exactly how I've been feeling in recent weeks about going public with this site.  I too, have toyed with the idea of publishing it under a pseudonym, but just like Louise I feel strongly that it's my story and for me to tell it authentically I must do it as myself.

Whilst these concerns may have been true 20 years ago I believe that good mental health is no longer seen as an issue for a minority group but has become far more mainstream in recent years. The importance of workplaces being supportive environments for good mental health has just been illustrated by The Surgeon General in the US which has recently released a report discussing how “Our workplaces play a significant role in our lives”.

It includes these three interesting data points:

1. 76% of U.S. workers reported at least one symptom of a mental health condition.
2. 84% of respondents said their workplace conditions had contributed to at least one mental health challenge.
3. 81% of workers reported that they will be looking for workplaces that support mental health in the future

Therefore, far from me being in a minority here, I'm grouped with 76% of the population who have reported a mental health condition. The final point is particularly important; that four out of every five US employees consider their mental health to be of such importance that they specifically look for workplaces that are supportive of their mental health needs; these are workers who don't wait for an employer to discriminate against them but instead discriminates against any employer that is not sensitive to their needs. When 81% of the working population demand this, employers need to listen and appreciate the value a neurodiverse workforce can bring.

The report continues with:

I hope, therefore, that my fears turn out to be false. 

The irony for me is that since July 2021 I've been part of the 'End Stigma Surrey' mental health campaign as a Lived Experience Champion. Yes, I want to end stigma that's associated with mental health, but it seems the first person I need to convince, and teach to live and breathe that motto, is me! My internalised stigma is what's holding me back - and, just like all stigma - it's based on ignorance and fear rather than fact. I've no idea whether my fears of being open about my mental health will negatively affect how others perceive me, or whether it would affect opportunities available to me in the future. It's pure conjecture that exists only in my head.

In actual fact, it's quite possible that the opposite could be true. That by being open about my mental health it shows that I have insight and knowledge about my condition, that I'm able to manage and control it and that I've developed great strength to be able to talk about something very personal with confidence and face my fears. Further, by opening up publicly about my condition, opportunities may be created. It may encourage other people to reach out - others that may also be campaigning around mental health, others who may be on a recovery journey, or who may be specifically looking for someone with the qualities and values that I now live by and am starting to share.

The following diagram by Jeremy Finch succinctly sums up the problem of being to scared too share and how it is a detriment to society. It shows how there is a large pool of people who have inspirational stories in all aspects of life but sadly don't have the confidence to come forward. For too long I've been sitting in that group.

​The diagram is showing that almost 100% of the people who want to be heard are pulling that off. Some of those are annoying and saying the wrong things, sure. But the way to deal with that is not to get angry but to enter the area. It's time to turn envy, disappointment, and sometimes outrage into better work.

So, the time has come to honour the promise I made to myself back in July 2020. I must overcome my self-stigma, open up to the opportunities that may arise by telling my story and ultimately to make sure some good comes from the rollercoaster journey that has been 20 years of Bipolar Disorder.

And as we enter 'Movember', the annual moustache themed campaign to get men talking and address some of the major reasons men are dying too young - and to coincide with the Mary Frances Trust's 'Men's Wellbeing Matters' campaign - now seems like the perfect time.