Mental Health 1

When I started to write this blog, I suppose I decided that I didn't want it to be (totally) autobiographical even though I was writing about my own personal experiences, but my primary aim is to write about my personal experiences in a wider sense.  I do remember saying in my original piece that we all share similar experiences to some extent.  I know also that I said this was also about my journey to being diagnosed with ADHD, along with other diagnoses, treatments and non-treatments along the way.  I know to a large extent my mental health history has gone a long way into getting my ADHD diagnosis, and by that measure, that road been a long one, and why at this moment I plan to breakdown into three blogs - hence naming nomenclature, but could change depending how deep I decide to go in to various aspects.  

I suppose in hindsight the best starting point which may to some extent cover everything - and maybe one of the the biggest hurdles in my mental health is Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD).  It is safe to assume that I have had a life of constant rejection, and that definitely comes to light in primary school.  Coming from Liverpool, I started primary school at the age of six leading to my seventh birthday after completing nursery school between the ages of three and six.  My first teacher in primary school, Miss [sic] Hayward (although she definitely wasn't

a Miss) hated me.  I remember one particular incident where she called me lazy, which was so venomous also involved her speaking with another teacher about me (Miss Elliott - again definitely not a Miss) with the same venom.  I suppose things just carry-on in different guises.  Whilst, I was well supported and encouraged by my next two teachers, Miss Rogers for my interest in Ornithology/Nature and joining the Young Orithologist's Club, and Mr Bennett for some of the same, general knowledge quizzes we used to have which I pretty much excelled in, and recognising I wasn't as bad at football as I was made to believe - which was attributed to my long-standing small stature and was admitted by a different teacher which led to not being picked for many games.  My love of football was also a point of getting in to trouble probably during my time with Miss Rogers, when one day I decided I wasn't going to wear school uniform, and decided to wear my yellow Liverpool kit instead (it's funny that I had my different gripes with wearing school uniform and I'd end up being in one for earlier elements of worklife).  I got shamed in front of the whole school in assembly by the Deputy Headmaster, Mr Hewer and was a wonder I wasn't caned.  He would be my final teacher in Primary School.  He again would be another teacher that hated me with pure venom - I could almost write a book on him.  He was someone that ground me down not just academically, but also with confidence.  Any messing on my group table, I was always to blame - even when I wasn't.  There was a particular time when I wasn't, got a telling off etc and I told my Mam what had happened.  She didn't believe or accept until another parent told her, which resulted in her paying him a visit.  There were other incidences also which involved my Grandad being terminally diagnosed in hospital, and an 'accidental' elbow to the nose that wasn't even apologised for - but was witnessed.  As I say, I could almost write a book.

I wouldn't have started Secondary school at the age of 11 with a whole lot of confidence given the past year I had, even though I was obviously glad to get out of that class.  I had a little bit of a head start with my Secondary school, as I'd got to know a couple of the teachers through playing cricket during that summer for my local town who were involved with the club.  I'd began to excel a little due to deciding to concentrate on that ahead of playing football (this was another element of attack on me by Mr Hewer when my Dad helped out with a PE lesson).  I did have one emotional outburst quite soon after starting due to unhealed wounds as a result of the previous year, but generally enough, things were pretty OK - aside of the usual peer picking-on.  I also began to carve out a bit of a niche academically with my love and long-standing interest in Science - especially the medical side of things (occupationally I'd always wanted to go in to Medicine or be a Veterinary Surgeon due to my love of animals).  This was generally the consensus for my first two years at least, my cricket was going fairly ok, and felt that soon enough I could think about a trial with Lancashire.  Perhaps I started to notice further other difficulties I was having academically in my third year but were not picked up on, but were highly masked by other major incidents.

April 15th 1989 is synonymous with every Liverpool fan and Scouser that is old enough to remember it.  This is the date of the Hillsborough Disaster [sic].  Austin Grimmant, who was my oldest friend along with Lee Nicol who was also my other close friend, who I'd known about year less by virtue of not being in Nursery at the same time as me, were at that time regular match going Reds (maybe Season Ticket holders?  Can't quite remember.), where I'd only get to odd games (primarily due to an unreal paper round I had - this can also a story in itself), managed to get tickets to attend the game.  I obviously couldn't get one, and talked about going with them without a ticket, and was suggested that I went and tried to 'bunk-in' because it should be easy.  How haunting those words turned out to be!  I went home and asked my parents for a loan to go.  My Dad was favourable as he bunked in to Wembley in 1968 for Everton's Cup Final.  My Mam insisted I had a ticket - which I didn't - was the final call, so didn't go.  While not going into full details of what happened, things were badly managed around me, the specific thing that was handled badly was that a psychologist was already at my home when I ran home from school once I heard of Lee's death. A short initial chat wasn't followed up on.

It transpired I was left abandoned to wallow in my feelings while I lost interest and confidence in both my schooling and cricket, only giving a final push in my schooling for the final 5/6 months but the damage was done, and for the rest of my life I would always be feeling the need to catch up.  While it was easily conceivable I had been suffering from depression for the last two years plus of my schooling, it was never discussed and obviously not treated.  Given how school had ended, I wrongly - and not for the first time - joined the army, this time as an apprentice soldier.