This time last year I was fast approaching the second anniversary of the longest and deepest depression of my life. And sadly, there have been a few.

On this occasion hundreds of hours of very expensive therapy hadn’t worked. Dozens of different combinations of antidepressants, anti-psychotics and mood stabilisers hadn’t worked. Acupuncture, Vedic meditation and mindfully eating sultanas hadn’t worked either.

Things had become so desperate that after twice presenting myself at the local A&E as I feared for my own safety, I decided to take an ill-advised and frankly desperate plunge and embark on an exorbitant seven days of self enforced sleep/wake therapy/torture at a leafy North London private psychiatric hospital.

One week later and neither my circadian rhythm or my mood had recalibrated and the intrusive, spiraling, negative thoughts were more dominating than ever.

But hey, like the glibly detached consultant remarked as I waked out of my self imposed prison more frustrated, disorientated and disappointed than when I’d arrived, ‘It’s a flip of the coin, it works for some but not for others.’  Nice work if you can get it.

All of which left me compulsively fixating on the quickest route to end this seemingly interminable mental torment. Tube trains looked enticing but I might have just ended up as a limbless vegetable.  Tall buildings were tempting but what if I landed on a unlucky passerby?  A cocktail of drink and drugs might have just rendered me a brain dead and dribbling drain on my already traumatised loved ones. And as for exit by noose? I looked up some how-to video's on You Tube and it just looked too damn complicated.

Then, as I couldn’t face attending my son’s summer sport’s day for paralysing fear of having to actually engage with people, I stumbled shell-shocked and panic stricken into Walthamstow’s Thorpe Coombe, once a residential psychiatric unit but today, in the face of decades of sustained NHS under investment, a dilapidated shell of a building.

But, fortunately for me and the other patients who utilise its indispensible services, a building staffed by a supremely dedicated team of mental health  professionals, who despite their primitive surroundings, make it their business to make people feel better.

And not just to make people feel better but to feel like they’re genuinely cared for.

Initially numb to their propositions I mechanically accepted the help of the Home Care team who literally called round daily just to check I hadn’t done anything silly.

Within weeks a cohesive care plan was devised and I embarked on a new drug treatment (Lithium, which for me at least appears to be the Duracell of psychoactive pharmaceuticals) and
weekly back-to-basics Cognitive Behavioural Therapy sessions, which rather than unpack the undoubtedly complex psychological history that had led me to this point, instead enabled me to begin the process of de-cluttering my tangled thought processes and finally move forward.

This straightforward approach slowly but surely began to pay dividends and after almost 27 months of emotional and professional inertia in which I’d pretty much sleepwalked through Brexit, the election of Donald Trump and the emergence of
Tottenham Hotspur as the leading footballing force in London, the light at the end of the tunnel finally became visible despite all the voices in my head telling me adamantly for years that only darkness or oblivion lay ahead.

I’ve continued my therapy sessions – now fortnightly and soon coming to a natural end – and will take the Duracell indefinitely but as I approach the point of, ‘signing off,’ from the critical care of the Thorpe Coombe team the difference in their
attitude to that of my previous paid-for, ‘care,’ is significant.

Under the commercial system – which I only accessed in the first place as at the time the NHS waiting list for psychiatric care was so long  - my former consultant had only half-jokingly quipped when a previous depressive episode came to an end, “I hope we never see each other again.”

At the time it felt funny, but 18 months down the line when I returned, depressed yet again, I couldn’t shake that feeling that here I was again putting my mental health in the hands of a man who never wanted to see me again.

This is not the case at Thorpe Coombe.

I am no longer in a critical condition and the support available there is now being appropriately transferred to other more needy patients, but it’s been made transparently clear to me that I am always welcome back at the drop of a hat should my mental
health necessitate an urgent visit.

I don’t feel like a number. I know no-one’s profiting off the back of my mental health, and without exception every time I step into the building, however ramshackle, I know that I’m safe and I’m supported.

All of which is why – in my usual long-winded way – I’m writing this today; to give something back to a place that has literally saved my life.

I asked my psychologist Dr. Clare Greenhalgh  - who
has been absolutely pivotal to my recovery and deserves a very large medal, as do my wife and kids for somehow weathering the mental maelstrom - if there was any way I could fundraise directly for Thorpe Coombe as I’m about to compete in the Blenheim Palace Triathlon (http://livetotri.co.uk/blenheim/) on June 2^nd.

Apparently the North East London Foundation Trust (NELFT) has no direct charitable arm but after a discussion we came up with a plan to brighten up the undoubtedly shabby physical surroundings of the Thorpe Coombe waiting room, where I, and thousands
like me, spend so many hours waiting for that vital and often life saving few minutes of support.

I found a local E17 charity called Crest (http://www.crestwf.org.uk/), who run various initiatives to help people with mental health problems achieve some sort of respite from what are often lifelong psychological afflictions.

One such enterprise is the Think Arts programme (http://www.crestwf.org.uk/thinkarts/) which allows mentally ill people – some suffering from serious depression like
me, others from schizophrenia, others from OCD or Bipolar or extreme social anxiety – to express their feelings though art.

Art can be a massive release for people when they’re unable to articulate their chaotic emotions and what I’ve proposed to the team there is that the more money I can raise by competing in this year’s Triathlon the more money we can provide for
materials and studio space to enable those accessing the service to create some art works to be permanently exhibited at the Thorpe Coombe site.

And to make it even more relevant to my own journey I’ve proposed the theme of Balance, as one of he most important things that I’ve learned during my recovery is that in
order to sustain my mental stability now and in the future I need to strive for as much balance as I can in all areas of my life to keep in check the cyclical nature of over exertion followed by overwhelment followed by overawed avoidance and social, professional and personal retreat.

I did the Blenheim Palace Triathlon in 2015 in a fairly half-hearted fashion including a laughably under-prepared breast-stroke-cum-doggy paddle across the lake and a leisurely bike run followed by a too-little-too-late run.  This time I’ve trained properly. I’ve learnt how to do front crawl and breathe properly, bought myself a proper bike and been gradually shaving the seconds off my running time.

So fingers crossed I’ll improve on my time but to be honest that’s not the point. I just want to finish and when I’m swallowing lake water, or struggling to pedal uphill or wanting to walk the last 2km I’ll be focusing on the fact that I’m doing it this time for a very, very good cause.

So please join me in making in small donation via the Just Giving link below and with any luck the resulting art works will shed a little light on some dark days for thousands of people for many years to come.

I finished in 1 hour 46 minutes and 17 seconds last time and I'm going to start the ball rolling by pledging £25 if I finish and £50 if I beat my personal best so please give generously.

Thanks for taking the time to read this.

nick

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Thanks for taking the time to visit my JustGiving page.

Donating through JustGiving is simple, fast and totally secure. Your details are safe with JustGiving - they'll never sell them on or send unwanted emails. Once you donate, they'll send your money directly to the charity. So it's the most efficient way to donate - saving time and cutting costs for the charity.