I first started running a year or so before I left London, but it was mostly halfhearted and short distance. It wasn’t until I moved back up to Newcastle that it became something I did with any regularity. 6 years later and I run most days; come wind, rain or snow.

Since March 2020 running has been even more important for me. For a period it was the only opportunity I had to see someone each day. I’d run around my home here in Gosforth, several meters ahead of my friend, having a shouted, pretty stilted conversation. Back then it was once a day outdoor exercise, no bubbles and no socialising.

For someone living and working all day on their own, it was the only way to have some interaction each day. I put down my initial mental survival in that period solely down to those runs and that interaction. The day was just an indoor countdown until that point where I’d get on my trainers and head out for a run and get to have a conversation.

In many way it’s therefore only fitting that I’ll be running The Great North Run in aid of a mental health charity. I already had the place, having been signed up to 2020’s cancelled event, but it wasn’t a charity one. I could just run it for my own benefit, as I have done in the past. It felt like there was less pressure, less eyes on me to do well that way.

At the start of 2021 I decided I would be running it boldly, publicly and locally, in support of Mind. I’m sure you’re all familiar with what they support, but just in case, Mind are a charity that supports those suffering with their mental health. An incredibly important part of what they do is also to provide education and work to remove the stigma that remains attached to admitting you may be facing a challenge with your mental health. We’ve got a long way to go there.

 

Before I continue and discuss my own experience, you can find the link to my Just Giving page here, should you wish to make a donation.

Absolutely any amount at all is very kindly and appreciatively received.

 

 

Mind and I are aligned on the fact that we believe the pandemic has brought about a mental health emergency. Perhaps not since the war has one single thing collectively affected us all like the events of the past 18 months has. There is almost no one it didn’t reach. We all felt the effects.

We talk about Long Covid and the after effects of having suffered from the illness itself, but actually, maybe it would be more appropriate to consider Long Covid as something we might all suffer with, in one way or another.

The concept of mental health as we know it today feels relatively new to me. As a child I feel we were only ever familiar with the concept in its extremes. Someone had tragically committed suicide, or someone was sadly clinically depressed. If we were to liken that to our physical health, I suppose it’s akin to only knowing of a cancer, or a brain tumour. It would make no account for all those situations, illnesses and conditions that come before or lead up to that point. They’re smaller in our united comprehension, but still serious and things you simply wouldn’t ignore.
You also have to factor in the rhetoric that surrounded mental health. It was something to joke about, something to mock. You only have to watch the Britney Spears documentary to know how shockingly unembarrassed our culture was with revelling in the concept someone had ‘lost their marbles’. She was the butt of the joke, the subject of ridicule for so clearly having struggled.

As I sit down to write this in early April, I’m taking a leave from my day job, requested by a doctor. In fact, it’ll be the 4th week I’ve needed to take away from work.

Like so many who may well be reading this, I wasn’t furloughed and my role rather simply switched to one working from home rather than in an office. The issue with that of course is that it was actually far from a simple switch. It was an incredibly hard switch that resulted in days upon days of sitting alone at a table, dealing with the expectation that I should not only be achieving the same as I would when the world was rotating in a more normal way, but actually I was expected to be achieving more than I would usually be.

The pressure and the stakes placed on us were often higher, we needed to deliver more. We needed to maintain a high level of output despite the fact all conditions around us had shifted astronomically.

For me, I live alone because I have the life to support any loneliness or isolation that comes with it. I have the job I have because I have the life to support any pressure that I feel comes with it. I live in a different town to my family because I had the ability to be with them in less than an hour. We build our lives to support ourselves.

All of that went overnight and all I was left with was work. The sum of my day was work. A lot of days it was all that was in my head; what else had occurred or happened to detract from that? Some days, despite having many amazing friends, I wouldn’t see any one at all and might not even have a conversation with someone that wasn’t on the end of a video call. Despite what they liked to tell us, it is not the same.

As I mentioned above, initially (despite everything) I think I managed to rise to that challenge. It was hard work every day; I would run each day and have those yelled conversations down the street with a friend, I would bake cake and drop it on doorsteps, I’d join the video call quizzes, I’d do yoga every evening; but I actually did over achieve for a period.

That started to unravel as we moved slowly into summer and as I felt myself beginning to drift, we were allowed to go back into our office. After that we gained the ability to head back to things that had been a part of our lives outside of work. I went back to boxing, I went to yoga, we could meet a friend for dinner or a drink. And things did improve and some re-revalling began again but I was always very aware even then I had changed quite a lot and my independence had suffered and the unfamiliar feelings of anxiety over the day ahead began to settle in.

In September 2020 after having to be admitted to hospital with a potential appendicitis (gallstones it turned out) I had my first panic attack, standing in a hospital waiting room, on my own, not knowing what was happening to me and not having anyone to talk to.

It’s a strange thing to describe. I’ve heard of people having them of course and always had sympathy for those I knew experienced them, but I think until you’ve been dealt one for yourself it’s hard to actually understand what it is and how all consuming it must be for someone who regularly faces them. I imagine it takes different forms for many people actually. For me; I couldn’t breathe properly, my arms seized up and my hands went into spasm because of the over oxygenation of my blood, causing me to all but collapse.

Prior to the experiences of 2020/21 I had never had anything even close to a panic attack. I’d go as far as to say anxiety and stress were not huge features in my life, I was a fairly methodical, realistic and mellow person when it came to situations and problems.

Since September I’ve experienced two more panic attacks.

The winter all led towards Christmas and whilst we here in the North East never got that reopening of our pubs and restaurants like other areas of the country did, we had Christmas at least.

I kept myself very busy, both with the day job and everything I do freelance. Incredibly busy. I didn’t think of much else and produced mounds of content on top of my daily workload at the day job. But then Christmas happened and our third national lockdown arrived.

For me Lockdown 3.0 was the hardest to deal with. Coupled with work situations that would be difficult to navigate in any circumstances, the anxiety and worry of it all got so on top of me I eventually felt myself completely topple. Everything felt so much darker and finding the will to simply get myself up each day was tough. I did all I could to try and create a life outside of sitting at my dining table, I flailed around with attempts at trying to build structure and order to my days, but it unfortunately it failed to help.

To serve to the point of the stigma that still remains, I didn’t tell anyone for quite a long time. I let it get increasingly worse, not knowing quite how to deal with things. Until now I still haven’t told more than those who absolutely needed to know.

Things slipped, balls dropped, work was badly done, engagement in things that I’m passionate about declined and the anxiety about the next day reached a point where I was no longer even getting an hour’s sleep each night. I would sit and stare at a computer screen all day long, trying my best to achieve everything I needed to but largely failing miserably.

I was anxious about the anxiety and layered the stress of knowing I was creating situations I would have to pick up the pieces on top of the stress of feeling like I had absolutely failed. All in all, it was a horrible situation. A situation that I feel is entirely out of character for who I was.

The only thing I kept up through it all was running. The day was a countdown to being able to be outside, feeling like I had achieved something. Something that didn’t involve the use of my brain, I just tied my laces and I ran on autopilot. I put the same music on each day so it was familiar and ordered. I ran the same route each day so I didn’t have to think about it.

Who I am when things are ‘normal’ is delivered by the life I have. Your life and everything that contributes to it helps equip you with what you need to handle what your day can throw at you. It’s quite hard to put into words, but it’s almost like you’re simply a collection of pieces that are no long assembled in a working order.

At a certain point I understood I had to ask for help. It just should have been sooner.

So many things were mismanaged throughout the pandemic, the allowances made for those who live alone was one of the big ones. I have friends around me, I have family to call me. There are people who did not, people who couldn’t escape their homes for a run or lengthy walk. For months they were left to deal with it on their own before the government saw fit to allow bubbles. Though I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that for many people, those may not have been an option. Do you ask someone to join their household, if no invites come? It’s a horrible situation for someone to have to navigate on their own and unsupported, all the while potentially still being tasked with having to keep their productivity at its peak.

Anyway, there it is. I don’t write it down and put it out to the world for sympathy or to garner attention, but because it’s there and I’m entirely certain I’m not alone.

I’m on the path to a better place and today (as I am sitting on my living room writing this) England has begun to unlock. You’ll be able to put the building blocks of your life back in place and make everything sturdier in your head.

I don’t assume that things reopening is the magic pill and assume it’s likely I may well be working around anxiety and panic attacks in the future. Mind and the dedicated people who work for them, are there to support each and every one of us with our mental health, should we ever require them. Their work is invaluable. Right now it’s likely to be needed more than ever.

The effects of what we’ve all collectively experienced since March 2020 will be with us for some time; from teenagers to our grandparents and new additions to our family who barely know us. We’ve all gained some additional things to be processing each and every day, and we’ll all need a little more help from each other each day.

If you feel you might need to seek help or simply talk to someone, Mind’s site has a wealth of resources. Do it sooner rather than later.