As a teacher doing a lot more than just classroom teaching there would be times when I’d be running flat out just to keep up. I’d be alive in order to work, although satisfied I was doing a worthwhile job. The alarm would go at 5.40 am and that would be it till I got home, usually just in time for tea at 6.00 pm. After that was marking and other bits of catching up. Then half doze watching something on TV with Jenny, and early to bed in preparation for that 5.40 alarm.

Now I’m retired from teaching I do most of my ‘work’ at home, but sometimes it’s hard to get out of bed in the morning, it’s hard to make myself get washed and dressed, it’s a cloudy day and maybe raining so I just write a bit if I can, read a bit, watch TV with Jenny. If I’m depressed then I’ll probably play some computer game for hours, if really depressed go back to bed.

These are opposing scenarios except for one key factor: in neither situation am I getting any physical exercise to speak of. And after a while it shows. I feel more tired, get more stressed, sleep less well, think less clearly. In general I enjoy life less, and am of less value to other people. Everything becomes harder to start.

Our bodies are complex systems made up of complex interacting systems. To be honest the experts are still only scratching the surface of how we really function. But one thing that is clear: our minds and bodies work better if we get a modest amount of exercise every day.

The technical term is aerobic exercise but that conjures up a range of images that needn’t apply. What I’m talking about is gentle exercise of any sort that never gets you out of breath and doesn’t leave you sore the next day. The amount and intensity depend on how much you’ve done in the last few weeks, and of course on your age and health. When I was typically running 50 miles a week, a relaxed five mile run in 35-40 mins would have fitted the bill nicely. These days I’ve got ‘post-viral fatigue’, and a walk lasting between ten and twenty minutes is all I can manage. If I go too fast I’ll be too tired to walk the next day, so I try to be careful.

There’s a related old post here.

Trick 3

What type of physical exercise that is continuous for at least ten minutes do you most enjoy (or least dislike)? Do it most days. Get some air into your lungs, the blood flowing, listen to the beat of your heart getting up to natural revs. And as days pass notice the little ways in which you start to feel more like living.

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I really can't be bothered (part of a 'Uses for a maths teacher' cartoon by Miriam Slechter

Do you ever have days when nothing feels worth starting and everything is shades of grey? Days when the sun doesn’t shine, and getting out of bed is the hardest thing you’ve ever done? Periods when the smallest chore becomes an impossible task?

Well of course you do. You’re human.

I remember someone telling me that as a youngster he worried he’d inherited chronic depression from his Mum. Later at university he discovered that everyone feels down for a few days at a time, now and then. It’s normal.

Actually feeling like this in adolescence (call that ages 12-25 ) is common. The hormones are rampantly badly mixed, the challenges of life are to be faced without as yet the desired rewards. Who am I? What do I believe? What will I do with my life? How do I succeed? Am I happy? Do people like me? Does she love me?

I get this feeling of lethargy and inertia far more often, and sometimes far more severely, than people without clinical depression. But it’s basically the same feeling. Over forty five years I’ve had many tricks suggested to me. I’ve tried them out, and discovered other possibilities too. This series will be the things I have found work. For me. Often enough to be worth trying.

I’ll be including a mixture of quick, medium, and long term tricks. They won’t all suit you, but some will.

Imagine you are at the top of a hill and the enemy approaches. You need to roll that boulder down onto them. But at first it won’t shift. These will be tricks you can try that might get the boulder started rolling.

Miriam’s picture? Yes we know verticals should look vertical even in a cartoon, but it makes sense when you see the whole picture.

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I was 21 when I had my first breakdown. I’d been suffering teenage depression on and off for six years but not known what it was, never questioned it. Suddenly I was too ill to go to lectures. In those days there was no specialist student health care, but a local GP (family doctor) had become increasingly concerned by the mental health problems he saw in his student patients. A year or two earlier he had decided to specialise in treating this epidemic. I was lucky enough to be referred to him by my own GP.

I don’t know what he prescribed me. Almost certainly a tricyclic antidepressant (this was autumn of 1970). I’ve just looked them up on the net and I certainly gained several recognised side effects: increased heart rate, drowsiness, blurred vision, dizziness, confusion. Mind you I was pretty confused when he first saw me.

The first consultation was weird. Okay so he sat behind a large desk and I had a traditional upright surgery chair. But he offered me a coffee, which was shrewd. It worked in much the same way as being given a drink when you arrive at a party. I had something to hold on to, something to take sips from as if I felt confident and purposeful.

His overall approach was way ahead of its time, perhaps because he had not been trained as a psychiatrist so came at the problem with fresh eyes. The starting point was medication, but he made it clear that the antidepressant was only to give me the opportunity to work hard at learning to cope with depression. So that’s what this was. Depression. Hmmm.

“The trouble is that when you feel down you have only the one escape route: running.”

I was a keen member of the university cross-country and athletics teams, and hell I enjoyed running. Best of all was ten or fifteen miles at relaxed pace through the beautiful countryside around Durham. That’s Durham England. If I felt a bit rough I went for a run. But if I felt seriously rough any attempt to run would be frustrating because the energy was gone. Clinical depression affects you physically. I would try to train and fail. The harder I worked at it the worse I got, which was absurd. Races were a waste of time.

“You try to escape by running and find that route is closed to you. What do you do? Nothing. You do nothing because you have no other escape routes set up apart from friends who are usually not available because they’re working or having a life of their own.”

I must have looked blank.

“When I get home from work I’m often feeling pretty rough. What do I do? I knock hell out of the garden. Do I like gardening? Sometimes. Not always. But I do it anyway, and it helps me feel better even when I don’t think I’m enjoying it. But some evenings it’s too dark or it’s raining heavily.”

What did he do then? Sorry, I can’t remember.

“Now you’re too depressed to run what other hobbies do you have?”

- I write.

“When was the last time you wrote?”

- well, er, I wrote a novel two years ago …

“Are you well enough to write?”

- er … well … I read a lot. I listen to music.

“You just told me you’re picking up books, trying to read them, and giving up after just a page or two. You said music isn’t doing anything for you anymore. In fact you have nothing but friends to fall back on when you’re this ill.”

I doubt I nodded, but he was right.

He told me I must find at least one new hobby. How? Well I could try browsing the local bookshop to see if anything caught my eye.

“This is your homework. You find one new activity to try. I don’t care what it is so long as you try it. No matter whether you find a new hobby first time off, the key thing is to try something. And then something else. And we keep going till you have a battery of escape routes to fall back on when you’re depressed. See you next week. Good luck.” He smiled and shook my hand firmly.

I went to the local bookshop (these days a Waterstones but not then). It was an Aladdin’s cave, but cold and dark and grey with the air like treacle. I kept wanting to cry but I made myself work through every single shelf of non-fiction. I read every title. I took some books off the shelf for a browse.

I have no idea what activity I picked, but I do remember the faint glimmer of light that doing something, anything, left me feeling ever so slightly better. No, I didn’t feel happy. No, I still couldn’t think straight. No, the future was still black. But something eased just a tiny bit, barely enough to notice. I had made a crucial discovery: when you’re depressed doing anything is better than just sitting around thinking about how bad you feel.

Actually there were two other long-term results: a lifelong love of browsing bookshops (which fortunately my wife shares, though it’s cost a lot of money over the years), and a tremendous variety of interests. To focus enough on writing to produce the next book for my agent to try and sell I’ve had to be brutal in sidelining many hobbies.

The doctor cum counsellor I saw in Durham from 1970 through 1972 used a range of techniques. The one I’ve described above would probably now be called solution-focused therapy. It was exactly what I needed at the time, and has benefited me ever since. I’ve sometimes used it with people I’ve tried to help, but rarely as forcefully as it was used on me: once I had a really bad weekend and made an appointment to see this doctor. What was I supposed to do when I realised I was getting worse? Anything but sit around moping. What had I done over the weekend? Sat around moping. There’s your answer so next weekend have stuff planned and do it no matter how you feel. Just do it. He then warned me that if I ever came back complaining of being worse yet had not followed this strategy then he’d not see me again. Hard words, but spoken forcefully at exactly the right time. The next weekend I had planned in detail, and I stuck with the plan. I didn’t feel okay. But I didn’t feel worse. Success! Often success for a depressive is entering a bad situation and simply not feeling worse than before.

If your counsellor proposes some action on your part then you have only two rational choices: you can give it a go, or you can stop seeing that therapist. And what harm is it going to do trying out their suggestion? After all, it might work. You’ll be sure it won’t, but give it a go. Give it a serious go, and in so far as you can when ill be open minded. Not every suggestion will work, but you can be almost certain that when you first hear of something that can help you’ll try to reject it; that is part of depression.

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Relax. I'll be bouncing around again in a few minutes.

There are moments when suicide makes sense.

That is, it feels like it makes sense.

In the moment.

Especially if that moment drags on for days or weeks.

Today we heard of the death of influential fashion designer Alexander McQueen. Someone very close to him had just died. It’s not known at this stage if he committed suicide, but the possibility has been mooted.

That got me thinking.

If my wife Jenny dies before me then I’m sure I will be devastated, and I’ll not be at all surprised if I feel there’s no longer any point in staying alive myself. Living with chronic depression is tough, and such thoughts can flitter though my mind. Usually they are weak and comfortably brief. But I have nearly lost Jenny several times so I have a sense of how I may feel.

What I’ve done is promise myself I will allow time to recover from the immediate grief before making any critical decisions such as whether to move house. I guess suicide also counts as a critical decision.

You see when emotions are strong or depression is deep we don’t think straight. During depression is exactly the time NOT to make important decisions. I’m lucky. I know my depression will ease, so I just postpone following through on any ideas till I’m feeling better. It works. Some of the ideas then make sense, and some I realise are just plain silly.

When depression first hit in 1970 and I had no idea what was wrong with me I felt a bit suicidal. I talked to friends and that helped. My Doctor referred me to a specialist and that started me on the road to understanding, learning to cope, and realising depression was only temporary. Mind you that temporary episode lasted over eighteen months, but I survived. And I’m glad I did.

Many years later one depressive episode brought extended thoughts of suicide, and a friend (Peter Jolly) helped me through the suicidal stage.

If you are feeling like death could be an option then please talk it through with a good friend, and if you’re not already receiving treatment for depression then please go and see a Doctor as soon as possible. There are medicines that can probably help you, although some take several weeks before you feel the effects.

Above all else, be patient. If you want to kill yourself now, it will pass. Life will get better. There will be times worth experiencing again.

Afterthought

When I suggest chatting with a friend I’m not suggesting you text everyone in your address book. Some depressed people contact all their friends saying where they are and that they are about to kill themselves. If that’s what you’re doing then you are in a rough state and you do need professional help, but maybe what you’re really doing is trying to attract attention. You may be trying to shout ‘HELP!’ or you may just like the fuss. The trouble is that friends rapidly become fed up with you if you try this more than once. And let’s face it, friends shouldn’t be abused like that. Or to put it from a selfish viewpoint (which is much easier to grasp when depressed) you need your friends to still be there if it ever gets really serious.

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The winter makes me feel so lethargic and down

In the seventies a psychiatrist said my depression has a lot in common with hibernation in some other mammals. I’ve mentioned this before. I’ve no idea if the expects still believe that about some types of depression, but it’s a great metaphor, a great way of thinking about what’s going on, a great model to work with. Like all metaphors it doesn’t have to be literally provided it helps.

I’ve not been writing much lately because most times I’ve tried it’s felt like trying to run through foot-deep fresh snow (that’s a simile because I’ve made the comparison explicit by using the word ‘like’ – and yes I have tried running through such snow, in my younger days). The problem has been that right now my mind and body are trying to hibernate (that’s the metaphor).

Maybe not the day to go for a long run in the park - probably feel like trying to think when depressed.

What does hibernating feel like?

Rather nice, actually. I’m thinking of the many times in the last month when I’ve gone to bed in the middle of the day and let myself relax, possibly with the radio on. If I don’t sleep it still feels good to drowse. I envy the real hibernators.

Trouble is most of the time my head and body are telling me to hibernate, but I’m not set up to do it properly. Hedgehogs have no problem. My metabolism fails to fully respond.

Normally I do a lot of reading, both fiction and non-fiction. Recently I’ve tired after just a few pages. I can cope with maybe two hours of TV a day before that loses its appeal. Anything physical is unappealing (the chemical systems are telling me to hibernate, and exercise might wake me up – perishing brain is nothing if not logical).

Getting started writing is much harder, and the results not as good. I write a section and realise it is not that interesting; I need to come up with a different approach, maybe some good illustrations (metaphors? photos?). But I can’t be bothered. And if I do try then the cog wheels in my brain scream out for lack of lubrication (metaphor with alliteration ).

Sometimes I get going on some activity, but I’m far less likely to feel any pleasure from it. I’ve shifted from my normal atypical depression to a dysthymic state, which I find depressing.

So what do I do about it?

Decades of experience have taught me when it might be worth pushing myself, and when to stop worrying and go with the flow.

If I’ve also got some physical illness like a cold I know to take things more gently till those additional symptoms ease. This has become more important with age. Right now I have shingles, but am recovering nicely from recent chest and sinus infections. So today I tried writing this and it seems to be working.

Sometimes my head lies to me. I have got used to giving in to the feelings of lethargy. There comes a time when I need to try pushing myself a bit every few days just to check, and I know that one of those times I really will feel better once started.

I started today’s blog aware that I might need to take a break in the middle for a day or two, and that’s okay. I did not start assuming I wouldn’t finish. I did started hopeful.

It helps to let people and commitments jolly me into doing bits and pieces. I am tempted to get ratty when this happens, but actually it does me good in the long term to have to do a few things, to get out a bit, to have to meet people. I may or may not enjoy it, but it helps. We go out shopping. We have the occasional meal out. We visit with friends, but just not as often as normal, and we don’t stay as long. Real friends understand – partly because we’ve explained.

Getting some exercise most days is good too. Walking for quarter of an hour would be excellent since it would get me out as well, but it’s not attractive. Especially when it’s overcast, cold, raining or snowing. We recently bought a rowing machine, and five minutes on that is both bearable (most days) and makes me feel better. Jenny encourages me gently.

Then there’s the SAD light box. Theory is that lack of natural sunlight in the winter makes some people function less well, possibly by affecting serotonin production. A light box provides bright light with wave-lengths not available from normal artificial lighting. It’s much nearer to sunlight, though in my experience not as good. If the sun is shining I’m better off sitting in the front porch (a small conservatory) than using my light box, but otherwise the box is better than nothing. It makes a noticeable difference.

Ah, that's better. Even with your stupid light box half blinding me.

Here are some useful links if you’d like to know more (or just Google something like ‘sad light therapy’):

http://www.psycheducation.org/depression/LightTherapy.htm#which

http://depression.about.com/od/sad/a/besttreatment.htm

http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/seasonal-affective-disorder-treatment/DN00013

Does light therapy work? Scientific evidence seems confused, but personally I do feel better when I use my light box. It’s worth trying, but do read the instructions. Do buy the right one for you. Do consult experts.

My own box is some dozen years old, large and quite heavy. It still works providing I replace the tubes at worst every other year. I’m thinking of trying one of the new generation of smaller systems, perhaps a blue light or LED one. Must read that up.

Having depression which gets worse most winters is not the end of life. Yes it’s another obstacle, but one that can be overcome. If you’re patient. And realistic. And you want to.

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I'm not very bright, but I'm cute and I love you.

This is a question many people ask themselves, and sadly the answer can feel devastating. In the last twenty four hours I’ve encountered a couple of items which give a strikingly fresh perspective on this.

Was Franco intelligent?

We recently caught a TV program about the Spanish civil war. It was interesting, and highlighted my ignorance on the matter. I knew it happened in Spain (obviously) during that odd period of unrest and depression between the two world wars. I knew the winners were led by a guy called Franco. And that was it. So I borrowed a couple of books from the library.

The Nationalists were battling the Monarchists. Each group was made up of a pretty mixed bunch of people who spent a lot of time and effort disagreeing with each other rather than cooperating to win the war. A key difference was that the Nationalists were led by Franco, yet oddly he is described as ‘not one of the century’s great intellects’ and characterised by the statement that ‘his head was a cemetery of dead ideas’.

So if the guy was so stupid how come he won? It seems a key factor was his ability to lead. He brought the bickering groups on his side together, enabled them to see that their differences were minor compared with what they had in common, and acted as a single figure head for his side. Now that kind of skill is rare. We could do with more of it in our schools, hospitals, businesses, political parties, even charity shops. Franco may have been what some people call ‘thick’, but there was at least one way in which he displayed awesome intelligence. I guess he just wouldn’t have passed many exams.

Is Lenny Henry intelligent?

Lenny is a successful and much loved comedian here in the UK. This morning on the radio he described how as a youngster he was troubled by not being able to do Maths. This made him feel totally useless. If you can’t do Maths, what can you do? Well quite a lot actually. He certainly did. Now if we were looking for someone to head up the astrophysics department Lenny’s would not be the first name to come to mind. But so what?

During the post grad year of training to be a teacher I wanted to do my dissertation on intelligence but was dissuaded. Intelligence, the man said, is far too difficult a topic for you. You’re not an expert trained in psychology.

Hmmm.

Looking back, this advice said more about the lecturer’s failure to sort ideas out in his own mind. At the level of a dissertation ‘intelligence’ could have been fascinating. Okay, so there’s a range of theories. To some extent these are just different ways of looking at things. Let’s consider one approach.

In 1983 Howard Gardner published his ground-breaking book “Frames of Mind”. I’ve got a copy in the attic. It’s not written as popular science, so you might prefer the summary here on Wikipedia. In outline he suggested that there is not just a single ‘intelligence’ thing as supposedly found using IQ tests. He identified seven different types of intelligence, each of great value. We’re all good at some, weak at others, and the mix is part of who we are. It influences what types of stuff we’re most likely to do well at.

Franco must have been very strong in interpersonal intelligence. He was good at dealing with people. He knew how to influence and motivate them.

Lenny Henry would also score high on this one, but also is good with bodily-kinaesthetic intelligence. Watch the way he uses his face and body and voice.

I could get hung up over finding it so hard to remember names and faces. But it’s rather more sensible to feel good about what I can do, and choose a direction based on the talent that is there.

Books quoted above

The first statement above about Franco is from “Aspects of European History 1789-1980″ by Stephen J. Lee (first published 1987).

The second is from “The Spanish Civil War” edited by A.Puzzo (published 1969).

Yes, I unearthed them in my old school library.

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Yeh yeh, so it's another North York Moors photo. The question you should be asking is how come I lost the top of the sign? Certainly not intentional.

Maybe.

It happens.

In the first article of this series I referred to having crashed a number of times over the last forty years. These break-downs were excellent opportunities to learn. Not pleasant, but not without benefit either. If I’d never pushed myself I might have avoided all but the first collapse, but I wouldn’t have had much of a career and I would have missed out on so many great experiences and failed to meet so many great people. What I’ve learned is to recognise the signs that my head is no longer lying about how much energy I have left.

Trouble is we’re all different. Second trouble is it’s hard to describe internal sensations.  What I’ll do is try to indicate the warnings I watch for, and then give some idea how I learned about them.

My own warning signs

The most obvious one, especially if you cross my path, is I get increasingly bad tempered. Anne Sheffield describes this so well in her book, reviewed here. Everything becomes someone else’s fault, and no one is doing the job they’re paid to. Any passing remark can cripple me.

When I realise I can’t stop myself snapping at people I know it’s time to ease back for at least a few days.

I also get physically and mentally exhausted. My body feels like I’m wearing clothes that get heavier by the day. Understanding anything complex becomes tough or impossible. Sleep becomes disturbed. I start to ache a bit like with flu.

I know there are other signs, but I only recognise them when they appear. The trick is to wake up and respond when they arrive, to try my brakes. If the brakes are dodgy then stop driving while it’s still uphill.

PS I’ve remembered another sign. Near collapse I get some kind of lunatic obsession. I suppose it could be anger at all the people who don’t understand which way round the toilet roll has to go on its bar, but I’ve never actually had that one. Once I began to dread teaching a small bit of algebra. Somehow I got it into my head that unless I could write a piece of software to illustrate what was happening (not easy in 1984!) then they wouldn’t understand. This was despite having successfully taught it many times before. On another occasion I wanted to start a one man crusade against kids not bothering to be on time for their first lesson after break. Sadly not everyone who develops this kind of lopsided and mildly insane obsession has a break down, but for me it should have been (but often wasn’t) a serious warning sign. If I was still teaching it’s something I’d ask selected colleagues and friends to watch out for on my behalf.

How did I find out?

Er, the hard way. Like I found out most things that matter.

I’d keep pushing myself until I cracked. Then of course I’d need significant time off work to recover. Later I’d think back: what was different about the period leading up to the breakdown? Could I have handled it better? And I started to listen to my own feelings, both physical and psychological, and slowly caught on.

Looking back, there have been periods of deeper depression when I’ve kept going okay with just a few rests. These have felt different, but not in the same way as the last few weeks before a crash. The trick is to learn which rough feelings are livable and which indicate a need to ease off.

What’s the fix?

It’s now just over five years since the last time I let things go too far. That breakdown led to retiring a few years early from teaching. I don’t always catch myself in time, but usually I do these days. For me the trick is to ease off, stop expecting anything from myself, give my head a chance to sort itself out. Sometimes I have to lie down for a day or two, but I’m watching for when I’m ready to get up and maybe get dressed. Sometimes playing computer games for a few days is sufficient escape from real life. Then I need to start working at stuff again – though gently at first. Life is for living, but it doesn’t just happen. We have to accept our own share of responsibility.

We also need to live when the sun shines, learn to remember the bright days, and accept that other days are overcast. Even then there is life to live. Okay, so occasionally it’s not overcast it’s black. Nothing makes sense except feeling sorry for myself and maybe crying. My head tells me I’ll never be well again, life will no more provide any kind of pleasure or fulfillment. My head lies. It’s sick. I just have to survive and wait. A better time always comes.

Don’t moan about the bad times. Enjoy and value the good times, the times we can benefit the people around us who also have a hard battle to fight each in their own way.

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