Jonny McCambridge: Finding the courage to write and speak out about depression

At the time I was a successful journalist and the father to an infant son.

To those looking in from outside, it seemed that I had the perfect life.

But the truth was very different. I had suffered from chronic depression and anxiety for years and, combined with the relentless pressures of work and parenting, I suffered a breakdown.

As my thoughts and behaviour became ever more erratic, a series of doctors decided I would be better off under medical supervision for a short time.

I will never forget my first night on the ward as I shivered in the bed under thin blankets and tried to get some sleep.

Every half hour a male nurse came into the room and shone a torch into my face.

At first I was confused. Then I had the chilling realisation, he was directing the light to make sure that I was still alive.

When I was released from hospital I had to face a new problem. Where would I tell people that I had been?

I was off work for several months and out of contact with all friends as I recovered. How was I to explain the fact that I had apparently disappeared?

Looking back now I am often struck by the fact that one simple option never occurred to me – to tell the truth.

That level of candour took a little bit longer to achieve.

However, a long period of being in mental health treatment programmes, speaking to doctors and counsellors, persuaded me of the merit of sharing, rather than digging holes. Indeed, it was clear that my refusal to acknowledge my vulnerability in mental health matters (even to myself) had led to the dangerous situation which required hospital treatment in the first place.

So, I tried a different approach and began to speak to people I knew about what had occurred. Most were supportive, but some were bewildered and seemed to have difficulty in accepting what I was saying.

There were quite a few who told me that I was ‘the last person in the world’ they could ever have imagined this happening to. One friend simply refused to believe it, and when I persisted, told me that he ‘knew what my sense of humour was like’ and seemed quite satisfied it was all part of some elaborate practical joke.

While I was stung by some of the responses, I had to conclude that it was all my own fault. People only see the part of you which you reveal to them. I had spent all my life building up an illusion of myself as assured, confident and stable.

Evidently, I had done it well. It was too much for some to accept when I told them that the Jonny they thought they knew was only a small part of the jigsaw.

I also had to confront the truth about why I was not immediately prepared to share my story. It was impossible to ignore the conclusion that I was embarrassed by the stigma of suffering from mental illness. I assumed that people would think less of me if they knew what was really going on. Being a Northern Ireland male, it was hardwired into my DNA to be stoic, to keep my problems to myself, to always pretend that I was coping.

Eventually, recurring problems with depression and anxiety forced me to leave my job. Now unemployed, with my glittering media career reduced to wreckage, I pondered how flawed the approach of keeping my defects concealed had been. I decided to make a change.

So, I started to write about my story. It began with me doing some blogging around the subject of mental health.

Little by little I began to reveal details of my experience, the years of battling depression and anxiety, the desperation of my mind and the dark destinations it led me towards. I was still nervous, unsure what the reaction would be. Also, I was aware that once I did this it would always define me, such was the novelty of a man from Northern Ireland speaking about mental health. I suspected from now on I would always be known primarily as the ‘guy with depression’.

However, the response was overwhelmingly positive. Ironically, the media, the very trade which I had been forced to walk away from, now took an interest in this part of my story.

More important however, was the flood of messages I received from readers who began to share their experiences, to tell me of their suffering. I had always assumed I was a man apart, that I had thoughts and feelings which were unique to me. Now there were many, many others telling me that they understood, that they had been through the same struggle. The wisdom of speaking out became obvious – when the burden is shared between so many people then it becomes that much lighter to carry.

The blogging opened other doors. It fashioned a voice and style which would eventually evolve into this weekly column. More, I received some literary interest in my work. A discussion began on whether I would have the ability, discipline and tenacity to turn my story into a book.

After two years of juggling this writing with other duties, my book ‘Afraid of the Dark’ was published last week. It tells my story.

I try to be realistic. I know that my wee book is never going to threaten JK Rowling and Jamie Oliver for copies shifted (as I write this I am currently at number 22,180 on the Amazon bestseller list) - but that’s not the point.

Already I have received a small number of messages from people thanking me for writing it. Respondents who have experience of the same darkness. Stories of marriages and careers ruined by depression, and, in some cases, lives lost.

There is a long way still to go in the process of grinding the stigma which exists around mental illness into dust.

This book is my small contribution. My decision to reveal the worst of me may yet turn out to be best thing I will ever do.

* Afraid of the Dark, published by Dalzell Press, is available on Amazon.

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