Recovery And The Future

I’ve been out of hospital for a number of weeks now. As many of you know, I was suddenly admitted into psychiatric care at the end of May, spending roughly seven weeks on Succoth Ward in Lochgilphead. It was a necessary admission which undoubtedly saved me from the ravages of the deep depression I was suffering. As ever I’m deeply grateful for the care and attention I received from the community mental health team, in particular the crisis intervention folks, and ultimately the staff on the psychiatric ward. I had left things rather late in seeking help and when I did, all the stops were pulled out to see me right and I’m deeply grateful for this.

Now I’m home, my recovery isn’t being left to chance and I receive regular attention from the local GP and the new community psychiatric nurse on the Isle of Mull. I cannot fault any aspect of the care I’m receiving. I’m pleased to say too, the new anti-depressant medication I’ve been prescribed is working well and I’m not suffering any side affects at all. I think this is the first medication for depression I’ve taken which has had a noticeable impact on shifting my low mood. I won’t say what it is because this information I want to keep personal.

Life on the ward was as I expected it to be and it did me the world of good to take a step away from regular living for a significant length of time. The greatest benefit is the palpable sense of safety I experience the moment I enter the ward and the door locks behind me. The seemingly impossible weight of fighting the urge to complete my suicide is lifted and suddenly I’m able to fully concentrate on overcoming the desolation of the illness I’m suffering. I was not well at all. I think as I age, so my depression interludes become fiercer. This bout of depression was also the first time I felt I was mentally ill, rather than experience my depressions as an expression of my psychological frailty and inadequacy. There was something organic about this episode because it emerged from deep within me rather than from an external trigger or life circumstance. Needless to say, the symptoms were all too unpleasantly familiar. I kept a daily journal during this admission and this entry somewhat explains what I was experiencing during the first few weeks of my stay.

“My desire to die is strong this morning. I want to end this inner turmoil and hatred I feel, once and for all. I’m tired - so very tired. I have no energy left to keep fighting this illness. I’m tired of referring to it as an illness with the following words, it will pass and I will recover again. I’m done with listening to this fact over and over again. The words I hear sound so glib and at times so plastic. I feel myself I am so plastic and unreal. The desire to drift off into the sea is so incredibly strong within me. I’m not frightened by this and think of how pleasant a death it would be. I remember so vividly how this felt when I jumped off the ferry. I felt I belonged to the sea and hold no fear for my gradual death through hypothermia.”

While I struggled with these deeply dark thoughts and feelings, I knew I was safe on the ward and there was no intention on my part to act out. I simply waded my way through the morass of the illness, aching for the moment the glimmers of recovery began to shine forth. It seemed to take a long while before these appeared but when they did, the transformation was remarkable. I’ve never been one to sit and wait for recovery to occur. I’ve always held the notion this is a process which requires my full participation and compliance with the medical protocols presented to me. In my opinion, there is little to be gained through non-compliance and a suspicious outlook. I trust the professionalism of all the staff from my psychiatrist through the various levels of the teams involved in my care. This is not to say I find it easy to communicate with everyone and there are those who I feel closer to than others. However, I firmly believe everyone working on the ward or in the external teams has my best interests at heart and I value this.

I’m not a gregarious ward participant and prefer to keep my own company when I can. There have been previous hospital admissions where I made friends with other patients, but on this occasion I found I kept my own company. As with everyone else on the ward, I appreciated we were each there for our own reasons and as such, respected the privacy and needs of each individual. We are a tight community on the ward where the nature of our conditions creates a level of intimacy not replicated in the outside world. We share our vulnerability and equally experience the vulnerability of others. I actually view this as a privilege and I believe this helps me become more accepting of others behaviour in all aspects of life. There can be times when this is a challenge on the ward, when outward behaviour can be alarming, disturbing or simply annoying. Nevertheless, even these moments are more readily accepted with the simplest response of removing myself from the situation and not allowing myself to be sucked into high energy which might be occurring. I value how the staff generally leave us to manage our style of community only intervening if a situation is really becoming untenable for all.

The key to my recovery on the ward is keeping myself busy and sticking to a self-imposed regimented routine. This does two things. Firstly, it prevents me from becoming introverted and indulging in harmful introspective thinking. Secondly, it helps the time pass by, so much so that the days begin to blend with subtle ease into each other. Of course there are times when time seems to drag or even stand still, but on the whole, I rarely struggled with boredom. I devoured easy to read ‘whodunnit’ books, puzzle books and rediscovered my creativity with writing my journal and this time, writing screeds about last year’s kayaking journey. I was never stuck for something to do and apart from my early days on the ward, I very rarely slept during the day. There is also a sense of safety in a regulated routine and this was invaluable for me too.

Setting targets for myself was useful too. I found myself determined to lose weight while in hospital and I’m pleased to say I managed to reduce my weight by nine kilograms during my time there. This required considerable will power to resist the delicious lunchtime puddings, the copious tea time biscuits and the supper time racks of hot buttered toast.

Eventually the tide turned in my favour, as I knew deep down it would. Here’s an entry in my journal.

“A great review yesterday. All is leading in the right direction and I’ll be going home soon. This is all very exciting! I realise now I’m ready to get back home and get back to living. I know I’ll be nervous and I have concerns about being isolated again. However, I’m growing in realistic determination that all will be well and I will be reinvigorated and renewed. I’m feeling much better and stronger, my thoughts much clearer and positive. I have all but stopped thinking of suicide which is a really big positive for me. I want to use the rest of my time on the ward to prepare for getting home. I want to create a plan of action to keep me heading in the right direction and keep me safe.”

Another sustaining factor for me was the incredible support I received from family, friends and the thousands of people who follow my social media channels. I was truly heartened by the genuinely warm comments and words of encouragement, support and love. Equally, I loved receiving cards, letters and gifts from people I have yet to meet for real. In this day and age, it’s a commitment to use the postal services to make contact and I really appreciated the effort folks made in this regard. It continues to concern me I do not show sufficient appreciation for the support I receive from my social media community and I hope writing this, goes some way to emphasising the true value I receive from everyone.

During the final couple of weeks on the ward, I put my mind to life beyond hospital. I realised there would be a period of adjustment when the regimented safety of the ward would be replaced with the unambiguous freedom of home life. I understood the need for me to have focuses onto which I could place the energy and motivation I had rediscovered in hospital. It wouldn’t do if I returned home without some structures to work within. With this in mind, I decided to place my energy into projects I’d considered after completing my year long kayaking journey but hadn’t yet made headway with.

Completing the book about this incredible journey and experience is at the top of the list and I feel a sense of confidence in seeing this to fruition. While on the ward, I’d managed to hand write copious anecdotes which I’m pleased with and in doing so, I think I’ve discovered how I want to tell my story.

I will be establishing a charitable foundation too. This will be known as the “Lifeafloat Foundation”. It will be a grant making charity for people over the age of fifty, who are seeking adventure in their lives as a means for personal growth. Particular emphasis will be given to those struggling with poor mental health and other life challenging situations. My intention is to provide grants which range from enabling the purchase of a pair of boots to funding ambitious adventures. I intend to establish a network of employed advisors and mentors who will offer assistance and wisdom to anyone who may need this, to assist them realise their adventurous ventures. In addition, I would like the foundation to offer workshops and training events in all matters adventurous. The motivation for establishing this foundation stems from a desire to give something in return from the privilege I’ve been honoured to enjoy as an adventurer myself. Additionally, I’m a passionate advocate for the power of adventure incorporated with a meaningful immersion in wild landscapes, to facilitate personal awareness and positive change in peoples’ lives.

I’ve researched in detail the requirements for establishing a charity, registered in Scotland and will be approaching key (and important to me) people I’ve identified as possible Trustees. Once the Trustee group is established, I will begin the process of registering the charitable foundation here in Scotland through the OSCR, Scottish Charity Register. There are many intricacies to address before I make the Foundation totally public and I’m confident these will be in place by the close of 2024.

My determined intention to establish the foundation leads into my plan for my next big adventure beginning on 1st January 2025 - “The Four Corners”. This is where I walk and wild camp, from the southern most point of mainland Scotland to the northern most point via the eastern point, the centre of mainland Scotland and the western most point. The route I’ve planned will be just over one thousand miles. The primary purpose of this adventure will be to launch the Lifeafloat Foundation and to raise funds to enable it to begin operating in 2025. I think this adventure will be perfect to highlight the potential of the charity. Equally I will continue to raise awareness about mental health matters, living a full life despite the rigours of mental distress and the all important message concerning suicide prevention. The concept of this venture occurred to me before my admission into hospital but the real planning for it took place by my bedside on the ward, with the maps I bought for the purpose.

I’ve returned home motivated to keep myself meaningfully busy. My shed of creativity is bulging at the seams with projects I’m keen to develop. I will be returning to making jewellery with pure silver and beach combed items. I have taught myself how to make paper and have ideas of what I can do with this. I am also very excited to have my mono-printing artwork accepted for display and sale at a local gallery here in Tobermory and will be continuing to throw myself heart and soul into creating more art pieces. I have begun to kayak again and I have plans for overnight journeys. I want to return to creating YouTube films for my channel there too.

The key to all of this will be keeping my feet firmly on the ground and not expecting too much of myself. I know full well how easy it is for me to chastise myself for under achieving because I’ve taken on too much. Above all, I’m looking forward to leading a full and rewarding life once more. However, I’m also aware the recovery pathway is not a simple linear one and there will be setbacks along the way. I’m realistic enough to prepare myself for these moments and I’m hopeful I will have the sense to accept the self-care I can offer myself and seek extra assistance if I require it. Indeed, I will continue to regularly meet with my CPN and attend appointments with my psychiatrist, to ensure my recovery is balanced and attainable.

Finally, I want to close this blog entry with an apology. So many of you have kindly and warmly reached out to me and I’ve been selfishly tardy in not replying to you. While I was very ill, I withdrew deeply into myself. This is an excuse, I know, and I hope as I begin to regain my inner strength, I will become attentive to others again. My sense of self and a belief I hold worth continues to be depleted. This is not to say this will remain the case because I’m working hard to regain a modicum of self-belief and I will find the inclination to engage more and more with the world around me.

Thank you all, so very much for all the support you have given me. I deeply appreciate every word and act of kindness you have shown.

I dedicate this blog to my wife Karen, who has been a constant by my side through all of this and over the past twenty years.

My Own Occupational Therapy

I’m not out of the woods from this current bout of depression. My new medication is only just beginning and it’s early days, though one of its side effects didn’t take long to kick in. Too much information I know, but dreadful constipation isn’t a great way to begin a new medication regimen. Now I know at first hand what it’s like to feel bloated!

My mood is steady though. I continue to experience horrifying periods of deep and seemingly unmanageable self-loathing, with accompanying thoughts of ending my life as a result of this. However, in these moments, I’m discovering I’m drawing more and more on the resilience I acquired during my kayaking journey. This is due in no small part to the fact I’ve been delivering public presentations about this journey to various audiences around Scotland.

The Opening Slide For My Presentations

These events have been well attended and despite some stage nerves each time, I enjoy myself immensely. I also enjoy the realisation folks are interested in what I have to share, how I tell my story and the messages I impart. It’s an affirming experience for me. It’s also hugely useful for me when recounting the powerful transformational learning I gained from my journey, I hear these words for myself too. This is why I’m more readily able to tap into my inner resilience when I experiencing a deep low, to keep me moving forward.

Saying this, I’ve yet to find my way back into a sustained process of writing the book about the journey. My confidence with this is at an extremely low ebb and when I do open up the files containing my writing so far, all I see is a word salad of complete and utter tosh! Despite this, I’m increasingly aware of a growing desire to get back into solidly writing again. Again, my recent public presentations have helped prove I have a good story to tell and I’m keen to get this written. I have nearly a month of house sitting for friends on the Isle of Skye coming up soon, so it’s my goal to use this time to complete the bulk of the book.

It was attending the occupational therapy sessions during my hospital admission in 2019, after my suicide attempt, which awoke my inner creativity. This lead to me making jewellery pieces and art from the fruits of my beach combing here on the Isle of Mull. Since returning from my long kayak journey, it’s taken months for me to reconnect with my inner creativeness. Thankfully, I’m back in my shed again and I’m loving it! All of a sudden I’m once more excited with the possibilities before me and learning new skills. I may not produce high class pieces, but each is created with passion. I’ve returned to my shed with a clear idea of what I want to create, what I want to learn and where I want to enhance my skills.

Available in my Online Store

This is a major step forward for me. My tenacity, an innate personal quality I only recently understood I possessed, prevented me from sinking into the doldrums of wallowing in self-pity and instead inspired me to return to my shed and “give it a go”. Once at my work bench, I quickly realised the space in my shed and the creativity it unleashes within me, is akin to kayaking on the sea. It’s rhythmic, mindful, absorbing and hugely rewarding. My uneasy mind is stilled and whatever self-hatred I’m experiencing, is diminished.

It has occurred to me, I cannot carry my self-directed anger or hate for more than mere seconds when I’m out in my kayak or making art in my shed. This is why occupational therapy worked so well for me during my many hospital admissions.

I’m on my road to recovery and it’s good to once more experience the familiar bursting buds of hope within me. I notice though, I continue to shy away from social media, believing I’m a fraudulent presence. Indeed, if there is a negative within the public presentations I have been giving, it is the strong sense I have no right to be speaking as I do about positivity. It’s nigh on impossible for me to absorb the generous feedback I receive without my internal dialogue batting it away.

I have a few more presentations coming up. One, tomorrow night in Portobello and the next one on Skye in April. I know every time I give a talk, this inner dialogue of mine will be slowly vanquished.

So folks, that is the current state of play for Nick Life Afloat. Never a dull moment!

Thank you as always for your love and warm support.

Tricky Waters

Despite some wonderful sea kayaking in recent days and enjoying all the gloriousness wild nature has to offer, I find myself navigating tricky waters again. My mood is consistently fluctuating, where the dips are beginning to appear more frequently and are a little more deeper each time. I’m working really hard to ward off an enduring episode of depression by insisting I keep active, I do things which give me pleasure and I attempt to keep my thinking to mindful awareness and the reality this eschews. To say I am fragile at the moment is an admission of weakness which I do not like at all. I want to be seen as strong and healthy, not the whining, self-absorbed individual I view myself at the moment.

Fighting depression is determined hard work. It can be exhausting and right now, today and over recent days, I feel exhausted. Settled night time sleep for me is fractured and hard to come by at the moment. I’m very tired, but the moment I lay my head on the pillow, my mind is awash with a plethora of unwelcome, unbidden and self-depreciating thoughts, images and beliefs. When I’m worn out as I feel I am at the moment, suicidal thinking is very much an aspect of my reality.

In deciding to write this blog entry, I was thinking of my suicidal ideation and how this manifests itself in my life. Rather than rehash another description, it’s best if I point you towards a previous blog post I wrote a few years ago about this subject - here.

While the general points of that piece remain consistently applicable, the major change is the fact I have since then made a serious and almost successful attempt to complete my suicide. In short, my suicidal thinking has moved from a conceptual, albeit serious process, to one where I know in reality I have it within me to take the actual step to end my life. I now know I hold no fear of the moment of death or the manner of how I will die. I know exactly what it means to welcome the approach of death and the huge sense of release this embodies for me. With this one change since writing that entry, I understand I have to now pay particular attention to the levels of my suicidal ideation because of the seriousness of me enacting it if believe the need for me to die to be true. It makes openly voicing my thinking all the more important because this leads to the support which helps me regain a sense of balance and recover.

This is what I’m doing here by writing and posting this. I’m giving voice to the terrible thoughts which envelope my rationality at any given moment and time.

Death has been largely present in my mind for a few months and considering my death has become once more, increasingly prevalent. I wish this were not the case because the reality is, I have SO much happening in my life which is happy and good, and what is more, I have so much to look forward to as well. I feel pathetically self-indulgent in admitting this and this is the complex nub of the issue. It’s a never ending process of vacillation between the awareness of the happily real possibilities life holds for me, and the deep despair I hold about myself as a person and the tragedy of the world I inhabit.

There is no singular reason I should think of my suicide at the moment. There are many issues which are important to me and which affect me deeply. However, a couple of ‘triggers’ have reignited the current importance I’m placing on considering my suicide. The dreadful war in Ukraine continues to trigger my suicidal thinking every day. I don’t think I’m alone in feeling the tragedy of this needless war and being deeply affected by the daily images of wonton killing and destruction. What this does is lead me into overwhelming feelings of despair for the world and humanity in general. The Ukraine war is not the only vicious war being fought where cruelty is central to the brutality. There are many populations and communities around the globe who are facing inhuman degradation. And there is more. I find myself thinking of our existential battle with human consumption which is outstripping the natural resources of the planet to sustain us. All the while, collectively as a species, we are destroying the habitats and threatening life for all non-human species. The destruction occurring in Ukraine is emblematic of what is meted out to many of Nature’s inhabitants around the world, through the wanton destruction of habitats, industrial over fishing and so much more. This violence against Nature fills me with a deep sense of hopelessness and exhausts me.

Another recent trigger is the death at the weekend of our darling wee feral cat, Misty. She was hit by a car on the road behind our house. She died instantly and without suffering. I knew this before she died, and losing her has only heightened this awareness, I loved her deeply and truly cared for her very much. She came into our lives by chance and in the short couple of years she was with us, she contributed so much joy and happiness to our household. I will miss her characterful presence terribly. However, it is not her loss which is the trigger for me, it’s randomness of her death and the immediacy of it. One moment she was a carefree little cat with a lot of love and in a split second because of a speeding car, she is no longer here. Stroking her small body before burying her in the garden, I couldn’t help but feel envy that she had died so suddenly. I found myself envying her death and the eternal peace this brought. I now find myself wishing for the same and this is an alluring attraction which is difficult to shake.

All I have described above is what is occurring beneath my surface. These are my internal experiences and the outdoor rejuvenated personality I present, often belies the tumultuous thinking I struggle with. Behind the happy photos and films I share of the joy I experience of being alive in nature is a hidden turmoil. I’m determined not to allow this to overwhelm me again and this is why I write about it now. I am facing this head on and by giving voice to my experience of suicidal turmoil, I am at least being pragmatic, honest and real. It is helpfully therapeutic for me to write and share. I’m not asking for intervention in any shape or form. Instead, I write to tell the world I am fighting my fight and this is happening even if this is not evident in how I present myself.

As always, I will bring this to a close by clearly stating I am safe. I have no plans to complete my suicide and I do not think I’m in danger of acting on my ideations on a whim. I’m working hard to live well and make the most of the life I’m so fortunate to enjoy. My recovery from deep depression is an ever ongoing process.

If what I have shared here has impacted you, please seek support in the best way you know how and please take the steps to look out for yourself.

As always, thank you for reading my writing.

Christmas Eve, 2021

It’s the season to be jolly and for the first time in many years at this time of year, there’s a tangible feeling of contentment within me. Not only this, a tangible sense of hope and optimistic expectation for the next year to come.

In reflecting on my past year, 2021, I realised it would be easy to focus on the battles I faced with my clinical depression and how I resent being incapacitated by this for most of the Summer and well into the Autumn. I resent the sense I lost a lot of kayaking-time, exploration-time, adventuring-time and nature immersion-time because of my illness. I berate myself for not fighting my malaise harder, to ensure I at least managed short forays around the bay in my kayak. It’s this feeling of self-directed anger which endangers the possibility of self-compassion and reasonable perspective within me.

This is because when I come to think of it more keenly, I in fact enjoyed a wonderful year - despite being laid critically low with my depression through the summer and autumn months.

Fingal’s Cave, Isle of Staffa

2021 started out for me with powerful positivity. My foray into making jewellery again in the closing months of the previous year, had been hugely successful and I looked forward with confidence to building on this success. Quite literally, a kitchen table hobby had become an enterprise, which then became a viable source of income for me. Not only this, I once more had something positive to focus on everyday - a purpose to my life. The added bonus of course was the huge amount of pleasure I gained from my unleashed creativity - I enjoyed a wonderful sensation of freedom.

January and February saw me bring to a close the most helpful and powerfully penetrating one to one psychological therapy I had ever encountered. This course of therapeutic intervention with a gifted NHS Scotland psychologist had begun the year before. The personal work I undertook with her was at times raw, painful, challenging and always insightful. By the close of the therapy, I had shifted my self-perspective remarkably and I was excited to feel the sense of being let loose on the world again. I believed I had a lot of good to offer.

We moved home. The previous year we rented a property close to the centre of Tobermory and while it was picturesque and quaint, it never really felt like home. There simply wasn’t a sense of security. At the beginning of this year we had the opportunity to rent a property on the outskirts of the town with guaranteed security and a tenancy where we are encouraged to create a permanent home. The sense of allowing roots to grow beneath my feet has been hugely exciting for me. I’ve now lived in Tobermory longer than I have lived anywhere else in my life. This year, after moving into our new home, I enjoyed the realisation the Isle of Mull is my permanent home. How lucky am I to be able to make that statement!

With the new home came my shed. For the first time in my life, I’ve a dedicated space just for me and my creativity. It has become my sanctuary. It’s the place I go to every day to make jewellery, to create, to enjoy my creativity, to learn new skills, to experiment with these and always feel comfortable with my solitude. I am happiest when pottering away in this workspace, inspirational music playing in the background, and the knowledge I’m pretty good at what I am doing. Acknowledging this important fact is a hugely powerful step forward for me. I love knowing the pieces I create and sell are being enjoyed the world over. This is hugely satisfying and affirming.

Springtime arrived and I began to kayak more. I took myself off for long days of exploration and sometimes overnight trips. While doing this, I ventured into the world of becoming a You Tube Vlogger, filming my ventures and making short films of my kayaking escapades. Once again I allowed myself the freedom to enjoy my creativity and celebrate this with a reconnected self-confidence in publicly sharing my self, my thoughts and my views. I haven’t built a vibrant You Tube Channel yet but I gain huge satisfaction from sharing my kayaking experiences in the way I would so often like to do for real with the many people who show such an interest in my pastime.

Ardnamurchan Dolphins

As a result of these films and my good fortune in encountering wild Scottish Nature in its finery; puffins, remote islands, singing seals, Fingal’s Cave, playful dolphins, beautiful scenery, sunsets, sunrises, isolated campsites, and so much more, I came to the attention of the Scottish Press and BBC Scotland. I was honoured to be invited onto a number of BBC Radio Scotland shows to speak of my experiences immersed in Scotland’s wild natural heritage. I enjoyed a couple of incredibly sympathetic articles about the same in two of Scotland’s foremost newspapers, The National and the Sunday Post. Finally, I was honoured to have a piece about me on the BBC News Website. This fifteen minutes of being nationally noticed was good for cementing the positive sense of self I’d engendered through my earlier therapy work.

In June I met the amazing Cal Major and her talented film maker partner, James Appleton. Cal is an inspirational ocean advocate, campaigner and educator. With great foresight she has created a charity called Seaful. This year she inspirationally paddle boarded around Scotland, raising awareness of our tangible human connection to the sea and I met her when she arrived in Tobermory. It was an honour to be invited to paddle with her and James around the Point of Ardnamurchan the next day. From this powerful shared experience has grown a lovely and genuine friendship. This blossomed through the rest of the year and it was truly wonderful for Karen and I to gift our previous yacht live-aboard home, ‘Anna Maria’, to Cal for her to use as she wishes to enhance the inspirational work she is doing through her charity. It felt genuinely good to give our yacht away, knowing she will be loved and sailed with great passion.

My social media presence has been a healthy one for me this year. Twitter in particular has been the virtual realm where I’ve continued to garner meaningful friendships and receive genuinely offered, unconditional love and support from literally thousands of people. It’s incredulous to me nearly 22 000 people have chosen to follow me on this platform. I’m truly grateful for all the love and support I’ve received through Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. It’s not been my experience in any way whatsoever, these online spaces are toxic.

I’m an advocate for sound mental health in society and I’m keen to vocalise a discourse about suicide and suicide awareness. I haven’t passionately campaigned about these, but it’s been rewarding to have been acknowledged for my voice on these matters. This year I have been filmed for two yet to be aired documentaries where I speak of the value of wildness in my life and how Nature is vital for my mental health. It was an honour to be filmed for internationally renowned flautist and performer, Eliza Marshall’s incredible project, Freedom to Roam. It was a huge honour for me to be asked to contribute to this project and yet again, this was beneficial for a healthy view of my self. I am also a contributor to Cal’s documentary about her journey around Scotland this year.

This year I became an ambassador again. I am currently an Ambassador for the cancer charity, Odyssey and in the autumn I was invited to become an Ambassador for the charity Seaful. I hold these roles with a huge sense of honour and gratitude, and I’m looking forward to a fulfilling relationship with them both.

Throughout the year, I’ve been deeply grateful for the unconditional love from my wife Karen. Despite my often crabbit, depressive demeanour, she has stalwartly been by my side through my deeply dark times. As with all my experiences this year, there is awareness to be gained here and it is this - I am loved.

Likewise too, it was wonderful to spend valuable time this year with my parents, both down in Herefordshire, and up here in Tobermory. The same message is clearly apparent for me to embody - I am loved.

Late in the Autumn I embarked on further therapy with the NHS Scotland psychologist and as before, this work has been hugely helpful for me. It’s ongoing and I think because of it, I’m able to write this retrospective with the positivity I am. Despite my chronic bout of depression, including a brief hospitalisation because of it in October, I’m able to draw out all the good from my year of 2021.

Importantly, I look forward with confidence to 2022. I do so with the awareness I live with treatment resistant depression and there’ll undoubtedly be time during my future, when this malaise takes grip of me again. However, with the recent work I’ve been doing for myself and reflecting on what has been a remarkable year for me, I believe I’m more in control of my mental health destiny than I’ve ever been before.

Thank you for your interest in me, for offering me your support, for your love, for your friendship, and for your willingness to accept me for who I am. I hope you know how important your acceptance is for me, because through you, I am learning to increasingly accept myself, for who I am and who I can be.

Merry Christmas to you.

Plans Afoot - Rock Climbs, Lighthouses & Islands

All of a sudden it is Autumn! The evenings are noticeably drawing in, there is chill to them too and I noticed this morning in Aros Park how the trees are changing colour. Many people tell me they love this season best of all but for me, it feels like a sad one. The long, warm summer days have come to an end and the prospect of a long dark winter ahead never fills me with eager anticipation. I have lived for well over half my life in the northern hemisphere but originating from the African tropics as I do, my blood runs thin and I am not a winter person. I love the warmth and of course the sunshine too.

This sense of sadness is heightened with an awareness I’ve missed most of the summer because of a long and lingering dose of severe depression. For two months I was laid low because of my recurring illness, incapacitated by severe low mood, dark thoughts of suicide and a general debilitating energy sapping malaise. Thankfully I seem to be on my way towards wellness again, though I have to say it seems like an achingly slow road. Despite my continuing lethargy and sometimes crippling anxiety, I’m once more looking ahead, rather than negatively inwardly.

A week ago I turned 58 and this gave me cause to consider what I wanted from my year ahead. I want to be well, that goes without saying. I want to enjoy adventures and I want to strengthen my connection to the natural world I inhabit. I have a desire too to reconnect with old friends and to meet new ones too. For too long, probably the last ten years, I’ve lived a solitude existence, far away from core friendships which are so important to me. On the other hand I have forged many genuine friendships through my social media presence, many of who I have yet to meet in person. It is my hope, I will realise many of these friendships in the months and year to come.

My Quiet Place in My Shed With My Three Books of Inspiration, A Climbing Harness & My Treasured Map Of West Coast Scotland.

Here is my plan to make these aspirations happen. I treated myself to a book I used to love trawling through when I worked as an instructor with Outward Bound. It was a staple of all the Outward Bound staff rooms I had the pleasure of enjoying through the years. ‘Classic Rock’, a coffee table book, is a wonderful compilation of the finest easy-(ish) rock climbs in the British Isles. It’s a book from the late 1970s when rock climbing was beginning to become a popular and an easily accessible activity. I was introduced to traditional multi-pitch climbing in the Moelwyns in North Wales in 1984. From that first route, ‘Slick’, a wonderful 80 metre rambling route graded Very Difficult (VDiff), I became an avid climber. I was never accomplished, in that I climbed the harder grades but I did enjoy the long ‘big boot’ routes (as I termed them) found on the innumerable crags and mountains of Wales, the Lake District and Scotland. These are the routes which feature in the book I recently bought. None of these routes is harder than Very Severe (VS), most being graded VDiff. The grade Very Difficult is really a misnomer. It describes a route which is easy to follow, enjoys positive hand holds and foot holds, and generally provides an enjoyable stress free ascent of the mountain crag. There will be some moments when the pulse may run somewhat faster, but this will probably be because of a sense of exposure rather than any actual difficulty.

It is usual in traditional multi-pitch rock climbing to climb in pairs, with a good friend, where one person takes the lead and the other becomes the second. I won’t go into the ins and outs of the traditional multi-pitch rock climbing process suffice to say, if the route is rewardingly challenging, then the pair will leave the crag with a sense of accomplishment and a wonderful shared memory to return to.

Anyway, my plan is to climb as many of the Scottish routes described in ‘Classic Rock’ in the year to come (such as Cioch Direct on the Isle of Skye featured in the adjacent slide show, climbed with Mrs LifeAfloat). I might venture south to the Lake District to complete a few there, but the reality will be I’ll struggle to climb even half the twenty six featured Scottish routes which are widely spread around the Highlands and Islands. My intention is to use the excuse of pairing up for a rock route as a means of reconnecting with old friends and maybe meeting new ones too. I remember with fondness many of the fine shared moments in the mountains and on exposed circuitous routes with Outward Bound friends in my distant past.

When we moved onto our yacht in 2012, I gave away all my rock climbing gear which is something I hugely regret. This means I have to build my kit up from scratch which is no mean feat given the expense of rock climbing gear now. My jaw drops when I look at the prices of essential items! However, it does mean I will have brand new kit and not be using my previously questionable out of date gear, much of which I had owned since the mid-80s. I’m certainly going to have to up my game with my creativity and sell a lot of jewellery and art to afford kitting myself out again.

Karen recently bought me a wonderful book written by Donald S Murray about Scotland’s Lighthouses. I have often thought it would be a lovely project to visit as many of these structures in my sea kayak. I will have paddled past a large number of them in 2015 when I circumnavigated Scotland and the Islands. However, there are many I have yet to see and there are those I have seen but would like to visit ashore. I think it’s because of my ease with solitude and wildness which makes the thought of being a light house keeper a romantically appealing one for me. I love the thought of living a simple but structured existence somewhere on the remote and wild Scottish coastline, or island or indeed, a rocky skerry. It is the lighthouses constructed on the latter which prove the most challenging for me to reach and land on, such as Skerryvore Lighthouse perched on a jagged rocky reef, washed by heavy Atlantic swells, sixteen kilometres south west of the Isle of Tiree.

Corsewall Point Lighthouse, Galloway

Again it would be lovely to share these kayaking lighthouse visitations with friends, sharing delight in exploring the intricacies of the Scottish coastline and camping overnight in remote and hard to reach wild locations.

This is certainly not a project I would hope to complete in my 58th year. It’s very much a long term one and probably will not be fully realised before I’m to old to paddle safely far offshore. Another long term project is visiting as many of the 900+ Scottish the islands before it’s time to hang up my kayaking paddles for good. Many of these islands are eloquently described in Haswell-Smith’s beautifully illustrated, hugely informative and well researched coffee table book, ‘The Scottish Islands’. As it is for for many mountaineers and walkers, ticking off the list of Munros, the 282 mountain peaks above 914 metres in height in Scotland, there is a compelling desire within me to visit as many of the Scottish islands as possible by kayak. If I trawled through my memories, I’m certain I’ll create a pretty long retroactive list of islands I have already landed on. I intend too, to resurrect my idea of sleeping on a different island off the Isle of Mull every month in my bivvy bag (under the stars) and this is certainly a project which will keep me entertained for the next twelve months. In resurrecting this plan, I’ll make more of an effort to raise the profile of Odyssey, the cancer charity I’m very proud to be an ambassador for.

What I have outlined above may seem overly ambitious, especially for a increasingly overweight man no longer enjoying the nimble fitness of his youth. Indeed, I am mindful of being cautious and not setting myself aspirations which will be too challenging to attain. There is the danger too of shooting out of the trap like a greyhound after a hare and ending up brought up short and winded, because I’m simply too eager to be well again. This is a familiar experience for me and the consequences for not managing this carefully can be dangerous because I might find myself tumbling backwards into another deep depression, experiencing a sense of failure and inadequacy. There is a fine line between being ambitious and over ambitious. I think I have tended to relate to the latter and generally I have got away with my chutzpah. I think for me, what I enjoy most in planning these adventures is the creation of them in my mind and wondering about their possibility and potential. I often say to folks that the advent of Google Earth has been a dangerous tool for me - it’s all to easy for me to draw a line from one place to another and say to myself, I can kayak that. I simply love reading maps, noticing intriguing spots in the landscape, checking these out on Google Earth, and then dreaming of visiting them. There is sometimes a sense of rising panic within me when I realise I probably do not have enough lifetime left to visit all the places I want to in Scotland!

I need these adventurous aspirations to work towards for the motivation they provide. It’s not enough to tell myself I will simply get out into the wilds whenever I feel like it, because now I’m living comfortably ashore again, I’ve somewhat lost the incentive to get outdoors because I feel separated from the natural realm. Now I have a warm and cosy shed to work in, it’s all too easy for me to hunker down in there day after day, losing sight of my adventurous roots and the earthy anti-depressant qualities of Nature.

It’s all too easy for me to be tough on myself with high expectations and a strong drive to achieve. However, by setting out these aspirations for my 58th year, I’m hopeful I’ll inspire myself to become active again and to make a meaningful connection to the world I live in.

My story continues.

Emerging Into The Light

Finally! I have some happy news to share in a blog post. A few days ago, seemingly out of the blue, I felt a sudden shift in my mood, where almost bodily and sensationally, I experienced a feeling of self-goodwill and positivity. I hadn’t experienced either of these, even in the slightest way, throughout this lengthy depressive episode. As with understanding the triggers for my depression, it’s useful to understand the triggers for a recovery process out of it too. To be honest, I can’t be sure if I can pinpoint specific moments or events which sparked a positive change in my self-perception, but I’m aware of various influencing factors. Before I outline the most notable of these, I want to describe what it feels like for me, right now at the point I’m aware I’ve successfully turned the corner with this particularly bad episode of depression.

I feel punch drunk, or maybe more descriptively, heavily hungover (without the boaking). I’m exhausted but relieved to have come through unscathed. I’m relieved too I did not end up in hospital this time, despite almost continually feeling overwhelmingly suicidal. There is a sense of embarrassment where, like after a riotous drunken party, I remember I was the only one who streaked naked down the high street (I apologise if this’s now an image you cannot shake). When I read back through my earlier blog posts and look at some of my social media contributions, I have this feeling of vulnerability, like I have shared too much - too openly. I don’t feel any shame and it’s important for me to state that, but there is embarrassment. I don’t like the suspicion I have which is; I was only sharing my recent experiences to garner sympathy and possibly more darkly, to gain notoriety. It’s important for me to believe I was sharing so openly as a means of accessing the first rungs of the ladder for my own recovery by outlining to myself more than anyone else, what was happening for me. It’s also important for me when as a spin off to this, I hear what I have written has been helpful to others, either struggling with depression too, or finding some understanding of what may be occurring for a loved one or friend. Knowing from the comments and messages I have received from so many people, what I have shared has been important and informative, is hugely rewarding for me and this leads me to my first important depression beating influencing factor .

Despite many times and for many days sometimes constantly feeling bereft of any hope, there was within me the desire to fight my way through and survive. There were many times when I denied this reality to myself and to others, but it is there within me, and by writing and sharing as I did, I was somehow reminding myself my depression is sadly a permanent part of me and I must have a respectful relationship with it. Not experience it as definitive outside factor where I believe I’m forced towards the inevitability of choosing to end my life. The dreadful beliefs I experience in the midst of my depressive distress; I’m a worthless person, a hateful individual, a fraud, a terrible husband, a useless son, a feckless father, a horrible friend, and so much more, are not the reality. It’s my illness which is leading me to think and believe all of the above. Sharing as I did and will continue to do, challenged the destructive depressive myth I do not deserve to live, or too, I’m exhausted with fighting the illness, fighting the annihilating thinking and simply fighting incapacitating bouts of anxiety and I want out. As I write this (see, it does help me to share), I recognise a growing sense of self-pride - I have successfully reached the other side and I have managed this without serious harm.

All of these positive influencing factors merge with each other and do not stand alone. Despite recognising my enduring sense of self-preservation, I could not have made it through totally on my own. I owe a huge amount of recognition and appreciation to the unconditional love I receive from Karen, my wife. She is a tower of strength in my life and she burdens herself with me for many long periods when I need support the most. Never judgemental, or openly frustrated and angry, or unhelpfully rescuing, she allows me to find my own path through the morass of the depressive episode, always there to offer me guidance when I ask for it and never unsolicited. Her simple acts of love expressed through warm words of affection and all embracing hugs and kisses are particularly powerful for me. There is simplicity in our animal humanness where warm touch and words of devotion carry so much potency.

The same is true for the incredible professional support I received over the last eight weeks. It is the individual humanity of the various NHS Scotland professionals I interacted with which offered me the greatest assistance when I required it most. I always felt heard and understood and what is hugely important, I realised I was responsible for my own recovery. It was not up to any of them to perform this task for me. Knowing that at the point of crisis, I had the relatively easy ability to turn for their support, enabled me to totally trust my local Community Mental Health Service. Quite simply, if at any time I felt overwhelmed with keeping myself safe (not completing my suicide), all I had to do was present myself (by phone or personally) at our local hospital or GP surgery and steps would be taken to intervene in my crisis. I can’t overstate how important this was for me. Even in those moments when I was sure I was ready to leave the house and enact my carefully devised plan for my death, I held onto the safety net which had been so effectively place within my reach by my CPN. I have a crisis plan which is typed up and I have pinned on my notice board in my creative shed. This has been an incredibly simple but powerful preventer and served many times to slow my thinking down and aid me in making a rational choice.

It goes without saying, allied to the humanity I experienced professionally, I experienced this socially too. I know how so many people; family, friends, friends I have yet to meet and strangers were rooting for me. There is incredible power in our humanness and our (your) capacity for unconditional expressions of love, kindness and support. In those darkest moments when I struggled to access any healthy rationality, I felt held by the wide and diverse community which has built up around me and my persona as ‘LifeAfloat’. Many times thinking of this community (you), helped me ground myself in the reality I am regarded and liked.

I have a good friend who has recently embarked on her personal journey with cancer and like me with my depression, she is choosing to be open about this with the wider world. Her contributions have been powerfully inspirational for me, particularly when she eloquently writes about the importance and pleasure she finds in living her life to the fullest each and every day. Reading her words whenever she shared them, served as a challenge to me - how could I be considering to end my life when she was ardently striving to survive hers in the fullest way she could? As I worked away at my jewellery making, I found myself pondering this a lot.

This leads me on to how remaining steadfast with my creativity was also an important factor in keeping me out of hospital or worse. I had a sense of purpose every day and more than this, I had a sense of accomplishment too. Whenever I’ve been in hospital because of my depression, it has been Occupational Health which so often unlocked within me, my capacity for self-recovery. By allowing my inner creativity to flourish and not be denuded in any way by my depression or depressive thinking, I have managed to hold onto my day to day existence and lose myself without self-rancour in creative reverie. My shed, my dedicated creative space, became a haven of protective solace for me, and in the depths of my anguish, I often found myself aching to lose myself within it. Where before in previous severe depressive episodes, I dreaded the coming day, I now found myself looking forward to unbolting the wooden door and stepping inside what has become a familiar and safe space for me. This is not to say that there were not many times where I lacked creative inspiration or even found pleasure in what I was doing or indeed ruminated on self-critical thoughts. Despite those negative experiences, allowing myself to be creative was akin to a powerful anti-depressant medication. It was slow to take hold, but certainly worked wonders over time.

This leads me onto medication. I’m not certain about this because despite the regime I am on, I found myself in another depression. Needless to say, I kept with what I had been prescribed and benefitted from an extra prescription of Diazepam to help me cope with crippling anxiety.

A new friend of mine and her partner have just completed a paddle board and kayaking expedition respectively around the mainland coastline of Scotland. I was fortunate to meet them early in their adventure and even more lucky to spend a day on the sea with them as they rounded Ardnamurchan. Remaining in touch with her progress and her openness (there it is again - that willingness to share) about her moments of joy as well as her moments of challenge, helped me reconnect with my innate desire for adventure and an understanding of what she was facing. I was reminded of how important my immersion in wild oceanic nature is for me, and how natural physical challenges can lead to many powerful insights and new awareness. The fact that she persisted with her challenge was an inspiration for me to persist with mine.

I think all these I’ve listed above, are the main influencing factors which led to a transformative change in direction in this current bout of depression. There are others which are too personal for even me to share and some which really don’t require writing about.

Finally, I want to acknowledge a residual sadness within me, despite the positive news I’ve been sharing and it is this - I’m sad at having ‘lost’ precious weeks of the wonderful summer we’ve been experiencing. Despite knowing how important nature immersion is for me, my illness overwhelmed my motivation to get out in my kayak or even take the dog for a walk. To be blunt too, I’m not certain I felt safe enough to take myself out to sea on my own. However, there is much of the summer left and I have some wonderful plans in my head with what I can do.

Thank you again for reading my writing and giving me your time. I truly appreciate the consideration shown for me and what I’m choosing to share. As ever too, thank you for the unconditional support I receive daily from so many of you, most of whom I’m yet to meet and sadly, may never enjoy that opportunity.

It is wonderful to emerge into the light again and to once more engage with the world.

An Update on the Previous Update

How I would love to write life has made a turn for the better and I can feel this depression beginning to ease. Sadly this is not the case and I am firmly in the grip of this tawdry malaise. However, I shall begin this blog entry with the positives because these are far more important than the negatives.

I am being incredibly cared for by my local Community Mental Health Team (CMHT), especially my Community Psychiatric Nurse (CPN). In the past when I have reached the depths of depressive despair as I have, I have ended up in hospital. This time round I have requested not to be admitted and to remain at home. I have been heard and acknowledged which is incredibly important for me. Going back into hospital, while being a place of complete safety for me, would this time feel to me to be an utter failure on my part and most certainly be a catalyst in me acting irrationally to prevent admission. I’m determined to fight this depression on my terms and while this may be risky, I do feel empowered to make meaningfully healthy choices. For example, I decided on two occasions not to meet with good friends who were visiting the Isle of Mull and who I hadn’t seen for ages because I simply wasn’t well enough. Being the good friends they are, they understood. Despite inevitably feeling shitty for ‘letting them down’, I realised I had made healthy choices.

The form the wonderful support I’m receiving from the CMHT and my CPN is regular telephone and Zoom contact, checking in with me and being a non-judgemental ear for my depressive unloading. I am fortunate to have a really good relationship with my CPN and I trust her implicitly, so much so, I speak candidly about my strong suicidal ideations and the plan I have in place to see them through. Simply put, being able to do this is for me, one of the reasons why I ultimately choose not to follow my plan through. By speaking of my darkest and most dreadful desires with her, I find myself lancing this infected wound so to speak and releasing the building pressure. Nevertheless, she is concerned for my safety and arranged further contact from the health services while she was off duty, this being in the form of a phone call from our local GP and over the last weekend, phone calls from the Out of Hours mental Health Team. Knowing I was receiving this support and had these calls lined up helped me make an easy decision not to act on my suicidal ideation. In a way, I felt honour bound to meet the agreement that I would be available to speak with them. Additionally I deeply appreciated this level of professional care and did not want to reject it by acting out. Throughout my mental health journey I have strongly believed in meeting my care full on, and while maybe not always being totally compliant, certainly being respectful of and grateful for the care being offered.

It has been my experience that our NHS professionals have our interests at heart and work their utmost to ensure this is upheld, despite the many constraints they face.

So, I’m grateful for the professional mental health care I am receiving. Hand in hand with this of course is the unconditional love and support I receive hourly and every day from Karen, my wife. She understands me and she knows how to live with me when I am depressed like this. I appreciate how difficult I can be at times, but increasingly, the sense I am a burden on her is diminishing. Of course there are many times when I feel utterly miserable about being poorly motivated and listless when it comes to enjoying shared time in the outdoors be this going for walks and possibly camping nights away. However, having Karen’s unconditional, no strings attached, support helps me live openly with my depression rather than bury it and hide it away. As with my CPN, I am able to speak with Karen about my suicidal ideations without fear of being judged or ‘shut down’. Simply being able to state where I am with this thinking, by expressing it out loud, is enough for me to make a decision not to act on my desires or the plan I have in place. I cannot stress enough how important Karen’s love and understanding is for me.

Then there is the unconditional support I receive from my wide Social Media diaspora in the form of private messages letting me know I’m in their thoughts, to more public utterances of concern and good wishes for my welfare. Despite having not been active on my main Social Media outlets, I do not feel forgotten and therefore the pressure to contribute. It is good for me to know that people understand I’m taking care of myself and I will return to my online visibility when I am stronger.

My shed has possibly been one of my greatest saviours. In here, with the accoutrements of creativity around my, I lose myself in hours of absorbing making and creating. Just as I found Occupational Health activity incredibly helpful for me in hospital, I find my shed has become my place of safety. It is a pace of purpose and intent and this is vital for me right now. It is in my shed where I make wearable art to sell and subsequently receive hugely important recognition for my creativity. During this period of my depression I have been reluctant to market myself but despite this I still make sales and this is helpfully rewarding for me. I feel I have purpose and I’m contributing.

Finally, I dug a pond in our garden and it is already filled with water, planted with plants and artistically fringed with rocks. The birds like to drink from it and it’s already an oasis of calm for me to sit beside.

Having written about the positives, I now find I’m unable to write about the negatives. I’ll rephrase this - I do not want to write about the negatives, suffice to say I am so very tired, exhausted in fact, fighting with what seems all my might to remain in this world. I long so much for the peace I experienced when I was in the sea after leaping from the ferry in 2019. Expending my energy on fighting my depressing seems to me to be such a sad waste because I have none left to enjoy what I want to enjoy, this being my kayaking, wilderness immersion and all the joys the summer months have to offer. Having just written this, I realise the possibility of reversing this energy flow from sustaining my depression to sustaining my recovery from it. If only this were so easy. I can see the possibility for this but right now, it’s frustratingly beyond my grasp.

Writing like this is hugely helpful for me and I’m grateful to those of you who read my ramblings. As I type these words now, I sense a positive shift within me and recognise the glimmers of change ahead. I know this tide of depression will turn and I will once more be moving ahead with the flow of life. My head tells me this truth constantly but my depression is a wily opponent and manages to sow the seeds of doubt and manipulates my frailty with so very powerful beliefs of my inadequacy and a strong sense of self-loathing. I’m longing for the strength to begin to turn these beliefs around. Until then, I trust in all the positives I have outlined here in this blog entry and hold close to me heart the words Karen so often tells me - “I think you’re amazing for your strength”

Thank you to all of you from the bottom of my heart,

A Dose Of Road Rage Exposes My Fault Lines

After eleven hours on the road, albeit a smooth enough 685km (428m) journey from the lovely Herefordshire market town of Ross-on-Wye, I indicated left and turned off the busy A82 into the short lane which led down to the Corran Ferry slipway. The queue of traffic already waiting for the short ferry crossing was almost to the top of the road and I saw I would have to pull in tightly to the rear of the car in front of me to allow other vehicles following me to join the queue. I noticed I should really make my way into the three overspill queue lanes but my access to these was blocked by the car in front, I could reach them without mounting the rough grass verge. Since the ferry had just arrived and was discharging its load, I surmised the queue would soon move forward as our vehicles were subsequently loaded.

The first vehicles off the small ferry were two huge yellow Highland Council road works vehicles, the front one of these obviously containing molten tar because of the signs to be aware of hot liquid the other loaded with grit. These two trucks pulled up to the junction with the A82 and looking in my mirrors I could see a large queue of traffic had formed because of the ferry queue spilling onto the main trunk road. This is the moment I realised it was up to me to move into the overspill queue lanes to ease this pressure but couldn’t do so without mounting the verge. Suddenly feeling indecisive I faltered and hoped the queue ahead of me would soon begin to move as cars were loaded onto the ferry. Looking in my wing mirror again I saw the driver of the first Highland Council climb out of his cab and walk with purpose towards our car. His face was thunderous and I knew with a sickening swoop in my stomach he was about to confront me.

In a matter of seconds he was on our car, thumping furiously on the roof and slapping my driver’s window, all the while screaming at me to “Move my fucking car into the overspill lane! - You fucking cunt of an idiot!” His rage was uncontrolled and for a brief second I wondered if he were about to wrench my driver’s door open and haul me out of my seat. He didn’t of course but he did move round to the bonnet of our car, continuing to thump on the bodywork and scream abuse at me.

Now, I am no wall flower and I have a temper too. In these split seconds my rage surged with indignation and with our eyes fiercely locking I flashed two fingers at him and shouted back “Fuck off you wanker!” No sooner I had expostulated these unhelpful words, Karen calmly suggested I calm myself and do as he was saying. It all happened so fast. I managed to pull our car up onto the verge and drive into the overspill lane but no other cars followed me so I stopped. As soon as I did this, this bulk of a man bore bore on our car again, his bunched fists readying themselves for more than thumping our body work. I prepared myself to get out of the car and face him, such was my anger too. I knew I wouldn’t have stood a chance in a physical confrontation but I’m not fearful of such things.

Suddenly the traffic queue began to move off smoothly and with a look of surprise (and maybe it was disappointment) the raging Highland Council roads operative turned away as I re-joined the queue. The ragefully angry situation was over and traffic was running again.

We were silent in the car, Karen thoughtfully allowing me to fume in silence as I brought myself down to a relative sense of calm. A few minutes later we spoke and both agreed that the man had been unpleasant and needn’t have been so aggressive in pointing out to us that it was our fault there was a queue of traffic forming. As is my wont, I mull experiences like these over and wonder what I could have done differently. It was obvious I should have not dithered when I saw the need for us to drive into the overspill queue lane and I ought to have forced my way through. Doing so would have set the precedent and the traffic stopping queue would not have formed and the Highland Council employee would not have become enraged, I berated myself for my indecision and concluded I had been at fault and suitably chastised myself.

The journey home continued without incident and after just missing the the ferry from Lochaline to Fishnish on Mull, we were home in Tobermory an hour later than planned. The whole journey had taken twelve hours and I was bushed.

Fast forward a day or so after this event and I find myself in an unhappy state. I’m indecisive and my thinking is overly self-critical. I have little goodwill to show myself and I ferociously berate any silly mistake I make. My general mood is low and I find myself cogitating over recent mistakes and a general sense I am simply not good enough. This self-belief of being a useless individual is pretty much a constant in my life. Recently through wonderfully successful therapeutic support I have come to understand more about this belief and its falsehoods but it is deeply ingrained and it doesn’t take much for it to dominate my sense of being.

We had spent the previous week with my parents which was a lovely family event. It was wonderful for us to spend time together after the deprivations of shared contact for over 18 months due to the pandemic and we were royally hosted as is my parents’ wont. I gave up thinking of my waistline and acceded to the offers of platefuls of good food and copious glasses of beer and whisky. The problem with me though, is I find it very difficult to see myself as being someone of worth and most certainly I believe myself to be an inadequate son who has let the family down. I won’t list my litany of perceived failures here, suffice to say, I feel dreadful much of the time when I think of the opportunities for different pathways I let slip by me and deep regret with some of the choices I instead made. I feel deep shame a lot of the time.

Now, you mustn’t imagine I live my life outwardly morose, always opining my sad lot in life. Quite the opposite. These self-critical views I hold on myself are largely masked and I successfully present myself as the cheeky chappie, devil may care, adventurous son, brother, uncle and dad that my family often see me as. Admittedly during this last week, this veneer has been fragilely thin and a few times I let my mask slip and presented myself as an easily injured individual, but on the whole, I think I kept my fragility intact and certainly out of sight.

Now I am home, I find myself fighting off a deepening bout of gloominess where I begin to hate myself and all that I do. I sense depression beginning to loom and I notice I’m thinking of suicide again. I’m certainly not at the level where I fear for my safety, but I realise my thinking is drifting in this direction. I have strategies to combat this deepening low and I have a ‘safe plan’ which I willingly refer to when I find my mood noticeably dipping. Generally a good dose of ‘Nature Cure’ is all that is required to set me back on track again. A few nights away camping and exploring with my kayak works wonders. However, I’m at a point where I find it difficult to allow myself the ‘luxury’ of getting away in my kayak. You see, I’ve been away for a week, I’ve not created any jewellery and I’ve not made any sales. I have to work and work hard! After all, I can see I’m not very good at what I do and I need to get better through hard work and determination. Do you see how easy it is for me to criticise myself?

Writing this has helped me. In doing so I have faced many of the negative beliefs I hold about myself and understand these to be manifestations of both my depression and my unfair self-criticalness. However, I find myself going back to one moment in time and angrily telling myself - “You should have pulled into the overspill lane and then none of these feelings of crapness would be happening!”

“It’s your fault!”

“You are a useless individual!”

So my story continues. My recovery from my depression is not straightforward, no matter how ebulliently I may present myself. I’m in a constant flow of self-query and self-awareness. The general direction is one of happy positivity and as I write those words, I know this to be true. It’s just sometimes my negative self becomes dominant enough to remind me of where I have come from and where I might end up again if I do not take care of myself.

I am determined this will not happen.

A Word Of Caution - For Myself

All this week, I have been Tweeting and posting on Facebook short videos where I describe how immersing myself in Nature is good for my recovery from severe depression. There is no doubt being active in the outdoors, surrounding myself with the grandeur and beauty the Isle of Mull has to offer, is beneficial for me. I am most comfortable with myself when I am out in the wilds. I am a confident and accomplished outdoors person being fortunate to have accrued an incredible amount of wisdom and knowledge through my many years working and adventuring in the wilds. Because of this, my interactions with wild spaces and Nature tend to err on the more adventurous and possibly physically demanding. It’s through a combination of subliminal connection to nature and facing challenge that I gain the most from these experiences for myself. However, as beneficial as this usually is, it’s not always the most healthy or safe approach for me to pursue.

There are time when Nature may not be the panacea for my depression and I need to take care. This has nothing to do with facing the actual risks associated with adventurous outdoor activity, though of course these are a factor to be considered. It is more about me keeping myself safe from myself.

The extreme safety consideration for me is my level of ideation for completing my suicide. I wrote about this a long while ago and you can read about this - here. It makes complete sense that I do not embark on a solo sea kayaking trip if I’m at the depths of a depressive episode when I have strong desires for my suicide. This is a safety consideration akin to asking some one to abseil without a rope. I wouldn’t do it. Despite my strong desire for death during these difficult times in my depression, there is enough of a sense of preservation within me to know that kayaking on my own would possibly be a bad idea. The safety factor which I attend to most when making these decisions, is asking myself - “How impulsive do I think I am at the moment?” If I’m confident I’m in control of my impulsivity, then I might consider it safe for me to maybe kayak on my own around Tobermory Bay, having given Karen clear details about my plans and the time I expect to be ashore again. The benefits of such a sojourn in my kayak would undoubtedly outweigh the risks in that particular kind of scenario. If though I am thinking of a longer journey with a night or two away, then even though I might feel in control of my impulsivity, I would decide against embarking on such a journey because I would not know how I would cope with any stressors on the way, or how I would cope with my solitude.

To be honest, when I’m at the depths of my depression, I usually lack the motivation to embark on a lengthy kayak trip even if the weather and sea conditions were perfect.

It’s in my make up to expect a lot of myself, to be strong, to persevere and not give in. When I am well, this trait of mine can be an attribute, enabling me to undertake some demanding adventurous challenges - and enjoy doing so. However, when I’m not well, then having this desire to push myself hard can be counter-productive. It’s probably this fact alone which I have increasingly learned to pay attention to when making a ‘risk assessment’ about my engagement with the outdoor realm. The question I find I have to ask myself is - “What do I want to achieve?” The answer to this will be internally debated, weighing up the merits of the endeavour, opposed to the risks of possibly failing to complete the task and what these may mean for my mental health. An example of this occurred a year or so ago. I was not long out of a prolonged hospital admission and in a customary show of bravado, I stated I would kayak solo around the Isle of Mull. I plastered my intent over my social media outlets and blithely set off down the Sound of Mull, overweight from unconstrained hospital eating and dreadfully unfit. Needless to say, I managed just two days of the trip before I phone Karen and asked her to collect me and take me home.

A positive reflection of this experience is the fact I knew I needed to stop my expedition and acted on this. I took care of myself. In fact this one experience forms the bedrock of my decision making processes since then. While I may not have been at risk of completing my suicide because where I was in my recovery at that point, there was considerable to stunting or even reversing this recovery through the consequences of ‘failing’. I push myself hard with an expectation of succeeding and when this does not occur, I can be painfully self-critical. Self-criticism is one of the driving forces for my depression, so avoiding situations where there is a risk where this may occur makes good sense. In hindsight of course, I ought not have set out on an ambitious circumnavigation of Mull given I was just out of hospital. As I write this I notice I’m internally berating myself for even thinking that kayaking around Mull at that point my life would be a good idea. The result of this internal criticism is a huge sigh and exhalation and a profanity laden exhortation. Thankfully though, at the moment I’m strong enough not to allow this one negative thought, lead me into a self-destructive cycle of rumination and instead, I have moved on to think about the positive outcomes of what I am sharing here.

The point I think I’m labouring here is, there may be times when immersing myself in Nature may not be a beneficial option for me, if my expectations of my ability outweigh the realities of the same. The negative consequences of incompletion and a sense of failure would be detrimental to my fragile mental health. This may be true even for considering to paddle around our local Calve Island or not. This is a trip of just a couple of hours and of no great challenge at all. However, there are times in my depressed state when my energy levels are so low, that to undertake even this, might leave me wanting.

Currently I’m at a place in my life where I’m able to assess these situations with a strong level of self-care in place. It’s not difficult for me to judge whether an activity in the outdoors will be good for me or not. Paddling out to the Isle of Rum and back in three days is a great example of this. There was always the risk I may have stumbled with regard to coping with the strenuous nature of the endeavour, but the outcomes to my sense of self would not have been adversely negative. As it turned out this one trip, and possibly the one before it to the Treshnish Isles, have been transformative. As a result of the truly incredible experiences I enjoyed on both these journeys, my self-esteem is stronger than ever before and I’m enjoying a level of personal contentment I can’t recall feeling in many years. With both these adventures, the possible benefits exceeded the risks of incompletion or a sense of failure.

I’m well versed in personal risk-assessment when it comes to my interaction with the natural and wild realms. It’s a dynamic process for me, multidimensional and sometime complex. The bottom line is my safety of course, but what I may positively gain for myself through the endeavour is of equal consideration.

If there is any wisdom I have gleaned from my experiences which I think may be useful for others, then it is this. Be aware of what you are feeling. This will guide you when deciding how and at what level to interact with Nature. You will know yourself best and you will understand what your feelings are informing you. For example, you may find yourself thinking it a good idea to go for an all day walk, but you feel incapable of such a challenge. In this case, it becomes a decision based on what the outcome will be for you if you fall short of your plans and how this may affect your mental health. If it were me, I would err on the side of caution and choose a definitely manageable route and thoroughly enjoy walking it without worrying about incompletion.

Finally, I think this bog post proves how complicated my thinking can be at times and how I’m forever inquisitive about the choices I make and whether these are good for me or not. It also shows my interactions with Nature and wild space are never without thought or consideration. The positive outcome of this is how impactful every moment I spend outdoors can be for me.

Mental Health Awareness Week 2021

From today, the 10th May, it’s Mental Health Awareness Week with its underlying theme of ‘Nature’. As such, I’ve made a public commitment to contribute my thoughts and experiences with regard to my own journey with severe depression and how immersion in the natural world helps me with my recovery. When thinking about what I would offer, I soon realised I had a huge amount of information to share and innumerable illustrative tales to recount. For a few hours I found myself overwhelmed with the numerous avenues I could follow, from which I would offer a range of personal insights and wisdom I’ve gleaned through my nearly sixty years. In fact, for a brief moment, I thought there was enough for me to write a book but I hastily put that idea to bed since I have promised the world two books, yet to be completed.

Instead, I have decided to follow a natural path, allowing myself the leeway of choosing as they come to my mind, some of the pearls I hope will be helpful for others. Since the theme of this awareness raising week is ‘Nature’, it’s apposite I should allow myself the opportunity to travel the trail less travelled and enjoy the adventure. Quite literally, share through my online channels, anything which crops up and which I think will be of interest and I have the time to create, write or film.

The first thing which jumped into my mind when I thought of this awareness week and its theme was the word ‘life’. It has been clear to me for many years now, that my immersion in nature is life sustaining, quite literally so. In fact during recent kayaking trips over the past few weeks I have somehow been acutely aware of this as I witness the proliferation of pelagic and littoral life with the advent of the Northern Hemisphere spring. There is a quality of ebullience to the sea, coastlines, islands and cliffs at the moment. When thinking of this I recalled I had written about this, or something like this, in the first draft of my book of when I kayaked around Scotland in 2015. This book has yet to see the light of day but I thought I would share this long excerpt here as a way of introducing my personal philosophy about my connection to nature and why I choose to do what I do.

The story picks up at Aith on the mainland of Shetland, the most northerly of the R.N.L.I. lifeboat stations of the 47 around the Scottish coastline I was visiting in one continuous solo sea kayaking journey. The theme of my adventure to this point had been coping with the seemingly incessant strong winds which plagued me. Indeed the title of this uncompleted book is “Strong Winds Are Forecast”. I hope the rest makes sense.


Aith R.N.L.I. Lifeboat, Shetland

Aith R.N.L.I. Lifeboat, Shetland

One task I had to achieve was my laundry. There was a washing machine at the lifeboat station, and I made full use of this facility, hanging my freshly washed clothes to hang in the blustery sunshine on a rudimentary clothes-line I had created from my tow-line. I laughed to myself as I hung my clothes over the rope in a haphazard manner, thinking of my wife who never allows me to hang out the washing. According to her I never do it properly! There’s not much to do in the hamlet of Aith, so I spent my day off kicking back in the crew room and gazing out of the picture window at the magnificent view up the Voe. I worked out I had four days of paddling ahead of me to complete the circumnavigation of mainland Shetland to reach Lerwick. The forecast was mixed with strong winds promised for much of the time. There were a couple of exposed sections of coastline to contend with, particularly Esha Ness with a reputation for rough seas and few places to hide. For the briefest of moments, I pondered portaging from the west side of mainland Shetland to the eastern side into Sullom Voe over the curiously named Mavis Grind, a neck of land which separated the west seas from the east. Mavis Grind it turned out when I asked Hylton, wasn’t a 1950s dance but a derivation from Old Norse meaning gate of the narrow isthmus. The isthmus, under thirty-five metres wide at its narrowest section, is the land link between the Northmavine Peninsula and mainland Shetland. Even though portaging here would considerably reduce my journey to Lerwick, I wanted to enjoy the achievement of kayaking around the whole of the island.

In hindsight, as Hylton (the lifeboat Coxswain) suggested, I ought to have stayed at Aith another two days, because shortly after setting off I found myself struggling into the teeth of a minor gale. The winds were from the north west from the direction I was heading. I paddled slowly out of Aith Voe, one laboured paddle stroke after another, realising I was exiting a natural and excruciatingly long wind tunnel. I cursed my stubbornness in insisting I would press on, no matter what. As I struggled to gain forward momentum, my conscience niggled with criticisms of my impetuousness. I mouthed silent thanks I had left Aith too early in the morning for folks to spot me struggling away up the voe.

Eventually I passed Papa Little island and crossed to the island of Muckle Roe. Along the shore here I was out of the worst of the wind and I caught up with myself a little, this easing my bad temper. Despite the wind, the day was gloriously sunny, the sea glittering with thousands of dancing diamonds. I looked up at the Scandinavian influenced farmsteads and dwellings and felt again the exoticness of being somewhere wonderfully foreign. I turned from Busta Voe, a name which made me smile because it sounded like a 1980s Ska singer, under the bridge linking Muckle Roe to the mainland, and into Roe Sound. Ahead of me through the narrow stretch of water was the expansive St Magnus Bay across which, nine miles away, was the headland of Eshaness. The wind was blasting down Roe Sound and once again I found myself digging my paddle blades deeply hard with a sweat inducing effort to make headway.

I was less than a mile from Turvalds Head (who was Turvald I wondered?) This was the point where I faced a choice to turn eastwards for Mavis Grind and the short portage into what assuredly would be the easier seas of Sullom Voe or press onwards towards the Eshaness headland. Choosing the Mavis Grind route would ensure the wind would be gratifyingly behind me whilst I paddled the remainder of the route to Lerwick. As I reached forward over another choppy wave and pulled hard, this choice was an attractive insight. I was sorely tempted by the prospect of easier paddling. I was half an hour away from having to make my decision.

The forecast assured me the strong north westerly winds would persist for at least two days, possibly three. I would struggle against them if I continued up the west coast of Shetland. The seas off Eshaness would be nasty and recalling my fearful experience along the west coast of Orkney, I didn’t want to face those conditions again. It seemed to me wisdom should prevail and with a heavy heart I was close to acceding to the inevitable. The glitter went from the day despite the diamonds continuing to dance about me. Despite the prospect of encountering easier conditions in Sullom Voe, my disappointment was palpable. My heart was set on completing a circumnavigation of Shetland mainland. It seemed to me my journey was in danger of unravelling. I was losing purpose. My original somewhat ambitious plans for my adventure, had included paddling right up to Muckle Flugga, the most northerly piece of land in the British Isles. In the cosy comfort of the small saloon aboard our yacht, and with the alluring aid of Google Earth, I had glibly drawn a route to this most northern point without much thought for the reality of the weather conditions I now faced in a rather bleak Roe Sound. As ever with a decision such as this, there were variables to consider, each validly presented. My task now was to sort through these in a logical fashion to arrive at an eventual choice.

The natural realm, the great outdoors as we often like to call it, tests me in many ways. From the dawn of time, humans have pitted themselves against the elements. I would imagine for hunter gatherer peoples, the natural environment was their world, the milieu where they lived, thrived, and coexisted with wild beasts in this mutually shared space. I could not imagine they sought to climb a mountain simply because it was there or paddling a log boat along the coast because they saw this purely as a personal challenge. I imagined for them, life held primary purposes; gathering food, finding shelter, and protecting their children. The essentials of life. As humans moved away from a transient lifestyle to one of settlement and permanent shelter, our aspirations through the millennia shifted and altered to the point here I was, a modern human, sitting in my kayak, on a wind whipped Shetland sea, enjoying the luxury of fulfilling a personal aspiration to kayak around Scotland. If there was no life sustaining purpose to me being here, what did this moment serve me? What did it matter if I chose to cross Mavis Grind and curtail my circumnavigation of Shetland, instead of pushing further westwards to realise my aspiration for a Shetland circumnavigation?

I discovered the answer was this; the personal purpose of my adventure was indeed life sustaining. It was offering me an important opportunity for growth and development. Physis is a Greek word which describes an innate natural force within every living entity which drives us to grow. In humans, physis refers to the energy invested in health and the expansion of our personal horizons. This is the urge to do something different, the aspiration to be who we want to be, and to choose our destiny. Good mental health is not only the outcome of sound relationships but also the fulfilment of essential universal drives within us including belonging, self-fulfilment and survival.

Physis involves change. No living thing can avoid change, we are constantly in the process of evolution. However, because we crave equilibrium, continuity, and safety in our lives, change is often difficult to accept. We hold onto what we know because this provides us with certainty. This desire for stability is called homeostasis, the opposite to physis. Humans are therefore pulled by these two opposing forces, homeostasis and physis. It is this unresolved struggle which underpins many of the unhappy responses we have to our life choices.

My struggle with clinical depression is most likely an outcome of this tussle within me, which is why, suddenly, the decision to complete the circumnavigation of mainland Shetland or cut it short, had become a vitally important one for me to resolve. It wasn’t simply a matter of portaging into Sullom Voe to avoid the winds. It was about the importance I placed on facing, or not facing, the challenge the strong winds presented. Homeostasis determined I would seek the less demanding route, to ensure I maintained my schedule and avoided the probability of serious and demanding sea conditions. Physis on the other hand, invited me to push on, even though success was uncertain and there was a high probability of becoming storm bound with inevitable delays. As so often when faced with this process, it is conducted beyond my consciousness. What I am aware of though, is rationalising the presenting facts of the issue and ascertaining the consequences if these are ignored or considered. The underpinning factor is personal safety, so an indication the task being considered was completely reckless, would determine an immediate avoidance. If though, the risks were such harm may occur but with care, could be avoided, then the task was worthy of consideration.   

It would be simple to avoid the complexities within the decision-making process, to not heed them or desire self-understanding. For me though, this would diminish the opportunity for self-awareness. I consider this to be integral to an adventure experience. Without understanding, there is no wisdom to be gained. It was clear from the outset that my journey around Scotland was so much more than simply visiting the lifeboat stations. It was an opportunity for me to gain deeper insights into my ‘self’. This would help me grow into the older man I hoped to become. I didn’t want to slide into my old age. I wanted to arrive with as much energy and enthusiasm for life as I had when I was in my twenties.

Lang Head from Egilsay

Lang Head from Egilsay

So it was, with renewed determination Turvals Head slowly slipped behind me. I continued out into the steep and uncomfortable waves of St Magnus Bay. The 1950’s dance, Mavis Grind would be enjoyed another time. Despite my resolve to face my adventure head on, shortly after setting out into the bay, uncomfortable sea conditions seriously challenged me. I had previously coped with trickier conditions but somehow, I wasn’t in a sound frame of mind to cope with this continuous onslaught of broken waves and powerfully gusting head wind. Searching as far ahead as I was able to, I saw conditions around Lang Head, my next headland, were dreadful. Even from my low sea level elevation I could see an angry race kicked up by wind over tide. I was faced with another crucial decision. I was able to turn back to Mavis Grind or I could find somewhere to stop nearby in the hope the conditions eased during the day. Pressing on around the headland in these conditions was not an option.

I resolutely held onto my desire to round Shetland. I pressed on another mile through some lively seas to a small island called Egilsay where with a relieved scrunch, I landed on a shiny pebble beach. A small cohort of common seals welcomed me in, snorting and splashing in the waters behind me. I pulled the kayak up the stones and wandered over to the far side of the island where I would gain a better view of Lang Head. From the raised elevation it was immediately clear to me I had made a wise decision not to attempt to get around. It would be a nasty piece of water to be kayaking alone in these windy conditions. I wandered back to the boat and dug out my flask of lemon and ginger tea, always a soothing drink when my mind is troubled, and I need to think things through. I had managed only ten miles out of the thirty I had hoped for in the day. If I stopped here, the wind would only increase in strength and I would be stuck for a couple of days at least, the seas around Lang Head worsening in the near gale force north-easterly. I looked morosely back to where I had come from minutes before. The entrance to short voe leading to Mavis Grind was clearly visible, only a mile away. With the wind behind me, I would reach there in no time at all and within the hour I would be unpacking my kayak and portaging my kit, my boat and myself across into Sullom Voe. I sighed deeply, noticing the seals looking back at me, almost it seemed with sympathetic gazes.

“Fuck!” I shouted and was immediately answered with a few splashes in the small bay as my profanity caused some alarm. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

I was fed up with the winds and I was fed up with what seemed to be a continual process of evaluation and re-evaluation. Why couldn’t I simply enjoy a carefree passage along this stunning Shetland coastline? Was fate trying to tell me something?

I refused to entertain the idea of giving up on the circumnavigation and belligerence within me mobilised my inert body. I heaved myself to my feet and set about unpacking the kayak, making a comfortable camp on short cropped turf a few metres away from the beach. My mind was unyielding. I would sit out the gales after which, endeavour to complete my circumnavigation of Shetland.

The small island of Egilsay became my home for two days and three nights. It transpired, this enforced castaway existence became one of the magical experiences of my journey. There was no phone signal and therefore no internet connection either. For some reason I could not pick up Coastguard broadcasts on my VHF radio either. I was unable to communicate beyond the shores of the island. I was not concerned for my safety because I knew that the YB-Tracker would indicate my location, even pinpointing where I had placed my tent. Nevertheless, I did wonder if the Aith Lifeboat would pay me a visit because they might wonder what had occurred. Without communication there were no on-line distractions which joyfully offered me the opportunity to appreciate uninterrupted solitude. When I was a boy, the tale of Robinson Crusoe enthralled me and ever since I wanted to experience island solitude, the unique alone-ness which a body of land surrounded by water affords. The coastline of the island was a natural boundary beyond which I was unable to venture without paddling in my kayak. Devoid of humans apart from me, my company was the small group of seals, screeching terns, skittering oystercatchers, rather dreamy fulmars, and a cantankerous black-backed gull. To the east, over a mile into Mangaster Voe there was a ubiquitous fish farm. Thankfully with the wind from the direction it was, I wasn’t disturbed by any noise this produced. I chose to ignore it most of the time. One vital thing the island did not contain, was a fresh water supply. Not for the first time or last, I acknowledged with gratitude my obsession, insisting I carry at least ten litres of water every day.

The joy of enforced time ashore creates a delicious sensation of relaxation. There is permission to lie in bed in the morning, brew coffee or tea whenever I feel like it, read, write, read, or simply wander and explore. The time is also valuable for making and mending, attending to bits of kit which require caring for, and re-evaluating plans for future route options.

I embraced my island solitude with enthusiasm. The angst about losing time was easily forgotten and replaced with a tranquil enjoyment of my island surroundings. I explored every inch of Egilsay, clambering along the rocky shoreline, striding over the sheep cropped slopes and ambling alone the small beach, eyes cast down in the hope of finding interesting flotsam. I looked for signs of ancient human heritage, a Viking grave perhaps or evidence of an iron age home. I carried my binoculars everywhere and would sit motionless on the rocks gazing out to sea, wondering if I would spot a killer whale. I desperately wanted to see a killer whale. I sang to myself, loudly and out of tune, idiotic made up songs which were bawdy and full of nonsense. I read, and I slept. I caught up with my journal. Then I wandered around the island again, and again, and again. At six hundred metres long and two hundred and fifty metres wide, it didn’t take me long to stride around the island.

At one point I pondered solitude as an experience. When I worked for Outward Bound, one of the most significant experiences we offered on the classic three-week courses was what we termed, ‘solo’. This important course element would occur midway through the programme (a personal development course for adolescents and young adults). This was the point when self-awareness was becoming apparent for the participants. Ideally, the solo experience lasted for forty-eight hours; two nights and two days of solitude. Each student was provided with rudimentary materials to construct a basic shelter, a change of spare clothes, their sleeping bag, enough water and minimum rations. They were encouraged to keep a written journal but not allowed the distractions of watches, cameras, phones, music players, or books.  The purpose of the solo was mindful self-reflection. Out in a forest or a wild area, each person was placed so they were out of sight of the other group members. They were given clear boundaries for their solo site and asked not to wander, both for their safety and not breaking another person’s solo. Their safety and welfare were monitored throughout the forty-eight hours by the course instructor, such as me. The solo was a pivotal moment for many students during the course, when significant personal insights were achieved. This opportunity for solitude is rarely attained in our modern lives.

One Of My Egilsay Neighbours

One Of My Egilsay Neighbours

I was enjoying my personal enforced solo, though I did have a watch and other distractions which broke the rules. I quickly became aware the effect my presence on the island was having on the lawful inhabitants. Unwittingly, I had pitched my tent a few metres from a tern’s nest. Thankfully this did not disturb the guardian birds who took flight when I emerged from my tent quickly returning when I had wandered away. In the hidden seclusion of my tent I enjoyed listening to the parent’s soft chuckles as they went about their egg warming duty. The seals were extremely nervous, and I wondered if this was due to the proximity of the fish farm. However, by the time I came to leave, one or two of them appeared less eager to slip into the sea from the beach any time they glimpsed me wandering around the island. The highest point of the island belonged to a large male black-backed gull who protected his domain with a vengeance. Anytime I dared come close to his spot, he launched into the sky with screeching cries, wheeling above, gaining height before turning like a fighter plane, accurately diving for my head, causing me to involuntarily duck. I usually scuttled away. The flock of terns were just noisy! If I wandered too near where they were perched, as one entity they would rise into the air, yelling and screeching in their high-pitched tones, all the while flapping like wooden bird marionettes. I attempted to minimise my disturbance on the island but recognised too there was little I could do about my presence. I was not there to cause harm to any creature.

I was relieved to find on the third morning the wind had sufficiently dropped for me to proceed with my journey. I said my farewells to my feathered neighbours and enjoyed the company of a few seals for a fair distance after I had paddled away. I think they were seeing me off their property. Lang Head presented no problems and it wasn’t long before I was crossing St Magnus Bay towards the eponymously named Drongs, a magnificent cluster of bare and jagged stacks standing a mile offshore. These were the first natural highlight of what developed into one of the finest days on the sea during my journey. The sea state was lumpy but not unmanageably so. Crucially the wind had diminished and shifted to become a now helpful south westerly.


So there you are. I eventually succeeded in my quest to paddle to the Scottish lifeboat stations, eventually arriving at Eyemouth one thousand and eight hundred and fifty miles after setting off from Kirkcudbright four months earlier.

Over the coming week I am really looking forward to using this as the basis from which I share my thoughts and ideas about mental health and why being in Nature is so good for us.

Thank you.

Time To Get Serious

May the 28th, 2020! That was my last entry on my blog. It’s definitely time to get serious.

The prompt for my reengagement with writing my blog has come from my recent heightened exposure on Twitter and Facebook along with my contribution to an event marking Odyssey’s 25th Anniversary, which I was invited to speak at.

I think, like many, the arrival of the pandemic early last year and the subsequent lockdowns and restrictions threw my best made plans into the air and in a bizarre sense, allowed me to wallow, shiftless and shapeless, using Covid as an excuse for my lethargy. Certainly my mental health suffered terribly last year and I was hospitalised yet again in the summer. Thankfully, it was a short stay of just over a month on the ward and I left with a determination to work on my recovery from my depression. Sadly though, I never regained the momentum with regard to my fundraising effort for Odyssey and this fell by the wayside.

(Find out more about Odyssey - here.)

That is until now. You see, I’m proud to have been nominated as an Ambassador for Odyssey, a role which hadn’t really sunk in until I gave my presentation at their celebratory event earlier this year. Here I met many people whose lives had been substantially altered through their involvement with Odyssey, either as a course participant or as a volunteer or member of staff. I was struck by the genuine passion for the charity and for the first time in many years, I felt the rekindling of the powerful sense of belonging, a feeling I have not felt for many long years. In fact loneliness is an important contributing factor to my depression. I miss the opportunity to spend time with like minded people, speaking of what’s important for us and sharing joy in shared accomplishments. It struck me that despite the disparate nature of the Odyssey community, it is indeed a community with a strong shared philosophy which continues to inspire all of us.

Odyssey grew from the shared vision of former Outward Bound staff, where the Kurt Hahn’s tenets were lived to the full by all who worked for the organisation. These beliefs in living life to the full through challenge and shared adventure, were easily replicated with incredible effect for the Odyssey courses. Personally, when I worked as an instructor on these courses, I couldn’t help but be inspired by the responses of the course participants to the challenges and adventures we offered them. When someone with a life-limiting illness reframes this into an awareness that their longevity may be limited but living their life is certainly not limited, I find myself inspired.

After my presentation to the Odyssey event, which I feel I gabbled and rushed through, I found myself thinking of the inspiration I draw from others and by consequence, the inspiration I may offer in return. In fact, realising I am inspired by the fortitude of Odyssey participants and the selflessness of my colleagues, I understood what it means when people tell me, I inspire them through my approach to my mental illness and recovery from depression. For the first time, I realised what I have to offer.

Many who know me, will know I’m an avid user of Twitter, the social media platform which has as many detractors as supporters. My experience using this method of connecting with friends and strangers has been predominantly positive. In fact I draw considerable support from the thousands of people who offer me words of encouragement when I am facing mental health challenges. It is a platform where I am surrounded by a lively, positive, generous and deeply warm hearted people. I believe I get to see the best of humanity through my Twitter feed and I’m grateful for this.

Recently, after I have posted some wonderful encounters on my sea kayaking trips, a couple of my films and photos have gone ‘viral’. According to the analytics for my Twitter account, over the last 28 days my tweets have been seen by 3.03million people and I increased my followership by 2092 to reach an incredible 18 903 followers! To be quite honest, I have difficulty in fully grasping the enormity of these statistics but I do appreciate them and I’m thankful for all the interactions I have with my followers.

All of this has led me to this particular point - it’s time to get serious.

So, I have reopened my online fundraising page for Odyssey - here - and once more I dedicate my adventurous lifestyle to raising funds for the charity. The fundraising page is open ended. I am now making films about some of my adventures which I post on You Tube. It is my intention to increasingly use these films as a platform to share my views about living adventurously, facing risks and enjoying life to the full. Additionally, I will be open about my recovery from depression and my continuing relationship with the illness. I hope by being open, honest and sometimes frank about how I’m experiencing my adventures, I offer insights and inspiration for folks to draw on. For a short while, I considered building a community of Patrons who would pay various levels of essentially donations for the privilege of supporting my film making. After, I put out my first proper film I quickly knocked this idea on the head - it did not sit well with me at all. However, I do believe what I share holds value and I hope if folks realise this value for themselves, they will choose to make a donation to Odyssey.

I benefit from this arrangement in a positive way. I am actively supporting the charity which I hold close to my heart and which provides me with an essential sense of belonging. This gives me purpose, something I miss a lot in my life. I am encouraged to continue to seek adventures in my life, knowing by doing so, I will share my insights with others. Importantly, I receive positive recognition for what I do. This is one of the basic psychological drives of the human condition - to be positively recognised. (I could go into much more about this but not now.) I will hold a positive view of myself. I am my own critic, a harsh one at that, and knowing I am using my privileged lifestyle to hopefully support Odyssey will enable me to ease up on myself with regard to the constant belief I should be doing something worthwhile. All in all, I know this feels good for me and it is a source of useful motivation for future endeavours.

Thank you for reading my blog, for following me on Twitter or following my LifeAfloat page on Facebook. Thank you for the support so many of you offer me, your words of encouragement and your kind comments about my films and photos. Thank you for being one of the many who have created the wonderful community I am surrounded with on my Social Media platforms.

World Mental Health Awareness Week - Sunday - Always Hope

Sunday 24th May and the last day of Mental Health Awareness Week. I hope my daily blog posts through this week have been of interest and even better, raised crucial awareness about aspects of living with mental illness and the concept of recovering from it. Throughout my writing this week, I have been aware of a reoccurring theme for me, and this is the one of ‘hope’.

Hope is a word I use a lot when I describe my recovery. It projects me into the future where I attempt to forecast my well being and mental health. Recovery from my depression is a certainty. After a bout of severe ill health, I will recover from this. What is less certain is the enduring nature of the recovery and the achievement of the ultimate aspiration of a lengthy period of stability. Given the truth I will recover despite the illness persisting, there sadly is always the possibility the depression will triumph in the end. The hope then is, it will be me who will prevail and manage to achieve healthy homeostasis for a months and years.

I am pleased to say I do not leave the achievement of a hopeful outcome to chance. I am active within my recovery and as I grow in strength during post depressive bouts, I bring to bear my increasing levels of self-awareness to actuate helpful changes in my life. This is very much a dynamic process and requires determination on my part, each and every day. Sometimes this can be mentally if not physically exhausting. However, I am certain my eventual recovery will not have occurred purely through good fortune. Neither too am I totally alone on this repetitive journey. Karen is by my side as are my wider family and my cohort of friends and supporters. Karen in particular though, is a keystone in my process and without her steadfast tolerance, understanding and love, I would not have the ability to access to my personal resources when I need them most. She is there to hold me still when I feel at my most vulnerable and wobbly.

Alongside my personal supportive network, I am blessed with an excellent collaborative professional relationship with the Community Mental Health team, in particular my Community Psychiatric Nurse. Without this warm person-centred professional support and intervention, I would not have managed to maintain a realistic level of personal safety when edging towards, or immersed in, moments of depressive crisis. My regular appointments with Mairi and knowing she is there at the end of the phone, enable me to ground myself in reality when I have needed this the most. It is extremely helpful too the language used during these interactions is one of hopeful uncertainty rather than unrealistic certainty.

I am eternally grateful for all the support and love I receive.

I am well along my pathway towards what I believe to be an enduring period of robust good health. All the positive indicators are there for me. I am extremely hopeful at the moment (and I wrote this with a smile on my face). However, I am at the moment proceeding with caution because I am aware of my tendency to grasp at every straw floating my way and state these moments indicate a completion of my recovery process.

Thank you for taking the time to read my blog and for interacting with me if you have. I appreciate the interest you show and the comments you make. If you suffer from mental illness then I hope your recovery processes are well under way and you are enjoying a settled equilibrium in your lives.

My very best wishes to you all.

World Mental Health Awareness Week - Friday - Nurturing My Nature

My parents tell me as soon as I could walk, I would trot alongside my Dad through the bush down to the sandy dry Mzingwane River when we lived at West Nicholson in Matabeleland, Zimbabwe (then Southern Rhodesia). By the age of five I regularly went out with him on ‘Patrol’ into the wild and uninhabited lowveld bush around Triangle in Zimbabwe where we would sleep under the stars beside languid rivers within which the eyes of Crocodiles would be reflected back by torchlight, wake in the night with Hippo grazing around us, and get up in the dawn to watch the sun rise over the African bush from the high vantage point of a granite domed kopje (a low rocky hill, pronounced koppie). My early life memories are infused with many encounters with the wild, learning to walk silently on the balls of my feet, to sit for hours at a time without flinching, silent, eying the fringes of the bush for movement and the eventual reward of a wildlife sighting. How to follow animal spoor, interpreting their size and their intentions. How to simply ‘be’ in the wild, appreciating the fecundity of nature around me. Our family holidays were always camping trips to isolated parts of the country where we immersed ourselves in the wilderness, absorbing every nuance it had to offer.

Moving to Britain in my early teens, I continued to live a life where the open air and wide spaces were integral to my existence. Not one to follow a more usual teenage pathway, many of my weekends were spent camping on Bredon Hill in Worcestershire where sitting by a campfire was more fun than partying in friends houses. Later I would hitchhike to the Lake District whenever I had the chance to immerse myself in the fells and explore the mountain tops. My academic studies took second place to my passion for my involvement in the Duke of Edinburgh Gold Award and the school Combined Cadet Force. I volunteered as a Cotswold Country Park Warden building stiles and dry stone walls. I learned to fly gliders solo before I could drive and every weekend I would head out into the country to explore, history and nature being my passions.

It was no wonder then, I miserably failed my academic studies and my pathway into adulthood led me further into the world of outdoor activities and adventure. At the age of twenty one I became an instructor for Outward Bound and the rest as they say, is history. My life since then has been incredibly rich where I have been privileged to have shared so many wonderful moments of sheer outdoor joy with friends, colleagues and course participants and clients. I have worked in Wales, the Lake District, Lesotho, South Africa, Zimbabwe and Scotland, all the while facilitating personal development awareness for a huge range of people, young and adult. All these experiences have imbued a richness in my life which to be truthful, I find difficult to quantify. Suffice to say, I am truly grateful for the thousands of opportunities I have faced.

Now at the moment, my life is governed by my recovery from severe depression. As best I am able, I continue to live a life of wild outdoor connection where I take myself sea kayaking along the incredible Scottish coastline and set myself reasonable personal challenges. I love nothing more than spending nights out under canvas, somewhere silent and empty of humans. Key to my recovery process is nurturing my natural draw to nature and a need for personal adventure. Without access to this, I very much doubt I would have sufficient meaning within my life to inspire me to keep up the fight.

Outwith the moments of insight in the depths of my depression, my most powerful personal life lessons have occurred during my adventures. There are innumerable moments when my experiences in the wild have proved to be potent metaphors for my life and ones I continue to draw on time and again. In the moments when I’m in the desperate grip of a depressive episode, it’s these metaphorical insights which help me maintain a semblance of self-identity. For example, when asked who I am and what I do, I say my name and that I’m a sea kayaker. I do not qualify this but within myself I know I am a person who is an adventurer with a deep connection to the wild and natural realms. My adventuring spirit does not pit me against nature, but immerses me within it so I come up against myself. It is within this process I learn the most about who I am and my life. In tomorrow’s blog I will explain this in greater detail.

Nurturing my natural connection to nature is fundamental for my existence. I believe this to be true for millions of people too and there is nothing extraordinary in claiming this truth for myself. However, it’s not until recently I have fully embodied this awareness and to some extent, given myself permission to accept its validity. I think I continued to hold onto the notion of fitting myself into societal norms and certainly undertaking a more cautionary medically influenced approach to my recovery from depression. I am not out of the woods by a long stretch, but my understanding of my recovery and the importance of my nature within this is far clearer. There are hurdles to overcome and these require considerable focus on my part. Essentially, I continue to struggle with the belief I do not hold worth and until I rationalise this, my potential for change and success will continue to be locked within me. Paradoxically, it is through my adventures and my natural experiences where I challenge these notions of worthlessness, and again this is why it’s crucial for me to nurture my nature.

My story continues.

World Mental Health Awareness Week - Thursday - Recovery

I was first diagnosed with clinical depression in 1995 when I was admitted to a mental health respite care home when living in Wales. At the time I had no idea what depression was let alone understanding the concept of mental health recovery. I remember the term used to describe my long period off work at the time was ‘experiencing a breakdown’. My next admission, this time to a hospital psychiatric ward was in 1998 in Kendal. After a further two admissions over the next year, it wasn’t until 2000 when I started working in the Mental Health field I came to hear of mental health recovery as a particular process.

I don’t think it’s true now, but in those early days, my experience of engaging with the concept of mental health recovery was a political one (with a small p). Service users as we were known were gaining voice with regards to our right for our involvement within our mental health treatment. Up until this period in time, as far as I could make out, treatment for mental illness was administered with medical authority where the expert was the psychiatrist. Through a growing movement for change within service user groups and charities, the model for mental illness treatment was shifting from an authoritative top down approach to one where the patient’s personal experience and awareness was increasingly taken into account and validated as shared expertise. In short, it was becoming accepted that mental health sufferers were very much experts in their own suffering.

In 1993, William A. Anthony Ph.D., then the Executive Director of the Center for Psychiatric Rehabilitation at Boston University wrote a paper titled, “Recovery from Mental Illness: The Guiding Vision of the Mental Health Service System in the 1990s.” (link here). Within this article he explored and outlined his understanding and vision for a recovery-oriented mental health system. Essentially, he describes a treatment oriented approach as one where the symptoms of mental illness were managed and alleviated. He describes a recovery incorporated approach as one where recovery can occur even if the illness is not ‘cured’. Recovery from mental illness involves much more than recovery from the illness itself.

It is that last sentence which hugely impacted me when I first read it in 2000 and for the first time, I began to consider my own mental health recovery process.

Twenty years later and I’m still working through the implications for myself of the recovery philosophy W.A. Anthony so wisely espoused. It is his wisdom which continues to inform me about my mental health journey and my pathway towards recovery. Indeed, this is a journey without a destination but always with achievable horizons. There are many other recovery centred models which are variations of a theme. However, I chose to adhere to this one simply because I like the apolitical nature of it. I have never signed up to the political nature of service user emancipation. Although I am antiauthoritarian, I do trust the expertise of the psychiatric professionals involved in my care. I prefer to work with them within the psychiatric system as it is, rather than ‘against’ the system where I determine my rights for recovery set precedence over anything else. This is not to say I do not disagree with those who follow a different path to me and in fact, I support many who have negative experiences of past mental health treatment and seek change as a result. I accept too there are many aspects of our current mental health system of care which could be enhanced, but I hold the view, we are fortunate to have access to what we have here in Scotland and I’m appreciative of this.

This is how I endeavour to live my recovery from my mental illness, the roots of this process set within the words from W.A. Anthony. I understand my recovery is a deeply personal and unique process where I’m developing my attitudes, feelings, goals and skills based on my mental health at any given time. My recovery is about me fostering new meanings and purpose in my life as a I continue to grow beyond the effects of my depression. I am hopeful this will lead me towards living a satisfying life where I believe I contribute even within the limitations set by my illness.

Helping me along my recovery path are these truths.

  • Recovery can occur without professional intervention. This is important for me to accept. I hold the key to my recovery, not anyone else. It is down to me when to seek the interventions and support I require. By accepting this personal responsibility, I become responsible for my eventual recovery from a depressive episode. I do not rely on the mental health system to ‘cure’ me and rather view my relationship with them as a partnership.

  • A common denominator of recovery is the presence of people who believe in and stand by me, the person in need of recovery. Crucial to this statement is the non-judgemental relationship I need with those close enough to be involved in assisting me through my mental illness. Key of course is my marriage with Karen and her unswaying support throughout my distressful episodes and subsequent periods recovery. Without her love I would not be here today. My collaborative relationship with my Community Psychiatric Nurse is another key example of where I am supported in an equitable and empowering manner. Knowing I am not being judged for being depressed is fundamental to my recovery.

  • A recovery vision is not a function of one’s theory about the causes of mental illness. It is extremely helpful to me in my recovery process for an archaeological exploration for the roots my depression to become a key element in my treatment. The fact I suffer from the illness is enough and there is little to be gained by seeking the causes. Understanding a triggering catalyst may help in terms of increasing awareness for the future.

  • Recovery can occur even though the symptoms reoccur. This is hugely important awareness for me to embody. By doing so, I accept the possibility of becoming ill again as a reality. This way I will never hold the expectation I will never suffer from depression again. I may hope this may be the case, but this is different to expecting it to be so.

  • Recovery changes the frequency and duration of symptoms. Essentially, symptom reoccurrence becomes less of a threat to my recovery as I become increasingly accepting of living with depression as an illness.

  • Recovery does not feel like a linear process. As someone who’s professional life has been involved in facilitating personal development awareness for others, I understand my recovery will involve growth and setbacks. There will be periods of change and times of little change, moments when I experience powerful insights, and times when I feel directionless. It is an acceptance that there is nothing gained from planning my recovery and hoping for systematic outcomes.

  • Recovery from the consequences of the illness is sometimes more difficult than recovering from the illness itself. As an example of this, I continue to struggle with the awareness because of my last episode of severe depression, I damaged important relationships in my life at the time. Coming to terms with this is just as difficult for me as it is suffering the symptoms of my illness.

  • Recovery from mental illness does not mean that I was not really mentally ill. Again this is an important truth for me to embody. As I become increasingly lucid after a depressive episode, I have the tendency to become apologetic for ‘being the way I was’. I minimise the illness as a character failing rather than an integral aspect of my overall health.

All of this is of course not the complete story of my recovery process. There are many subtle nuances which contribute, some more helpful than others. The key for me to understand and accept is the fluidity of my recovery and with this to be patient with its developmental path. Key too is trusting the fact I will recover, the truth that periods of depression will pass to be replaced with opportunities for my life to be lived to its fullest extent.

World Mental Health Awareness Week - Wednesday - Self-kindness

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It’s not lost on me how easy it is to offer kindness to others and not as simple to offer it to myself. In fact, being kind to myself can be an anathema for me. The compassion I hold for others does not it seems, apply to myself. I believe this is not unusual for folks who struggle with depression and in my case, self-cruelty and unkindness are the features of my constant depressive rumination.

I wrote yesterday how receiving unconditional kindness from so many people is invaluable for my recovery. This is because these acts of compassion become models for me to emulate with regard to caring for myself. Implementing this awareness is a huge challenge for me, particularly because I’m so heavily self-critical. My wife Karen with her custom loving tolerance will often challenge my many self-defeating outbursts by asking, “Would you say that to someone else?”

Invariably my reply is, “No I wouldn’t… but then that’s different.” There is of course no difference. Why is it OK for me to severely cuss my self when I wouldn’t do the same to anyone else?

I believe for me the key lies in acceptance. This is not an acceptance for who I am at a deeper existential level, but an acceptance of my depression as an illness. After a period of sound mental health and when my mood is beginning to slip towards a depressive episode, I will almost deny that this is occurring and there is a possibility I may become ill again. I avoid acknowledging my deepening gloom and instead push myself harder to effect an outward sense of indomitableness. I make plans for greater adventures and live my life at a an aspirational pace I’m unable to match. I simply don’t entertain the possibility of another bout of depressive frailty. Indeed, when I do begin to realise my mood is deepening I disavow depression as the cause. I attribute this to a weakness within me and so begins my cyclical struggle with severe self-criticism.

It was only during my last hospital admission last year, I realised (with considerable excitement) that my depression is an illness and importantly, I am not my depression. Understanding this has been crucial in my ability to accept I am liable to repeated depressive episodes when I may become ill again. After all, my prognosis is ‘treatment resistant depression’. If and when these may occur I am hopeful I will embody this knowledge soon enough for me to access the element of self-compassion so crucial to my recovery process.

The moment I begin to ease up on myself and offer self-kindness, my road out of my depression will be so much less painful and easier.

World Mental Health Awareness Week 2020 - Tuesday - Kindness

Love and Compassion

When reflecting about todays blog entry, I realised in my life with depression I’ve experienced nothing but unconditional kindness. In fact, searching through my memory banks, I’m aware more of the kindness shown to me by others than general acts of unkindness. I have therefore been fortunate in my life to have been surrounded by people with warm hearts.

I often say when describing living with my depression, having regularly visited the darkest places within my psyche and being, I’ve had the privilege of deep insight. As painful and dangerous as these times have been for me, I’ve come to realise the importance of love, in particular the love shown to me by others. Without this love I doubt I will have survived.

The wonderful aspect of humanity is our innate capacity for compassion. As a person who suffers, and who has made my suffering public, I enjoy experiencing compassion from others on a daily basis. Every day I encounter acts of kindness which soothe me and validate my existence. Receiving compassion is an unconditional act of recognition, a fulfilment of a vital human psychological drive. Without recognition for who I am, I doubt very much I would see much reason to fight as hard as I do to overcome my depression.

Compassionate kindness then is a fundamental element in assisting a vibrant recovery process from my depression, and importantly, maintain a strong healthy sense of self. In my experience kindness occurs in many guises, some expected and most unexpected. Kindness is the human expression of feelings of care and love for others and in most instances is processed out of our awareness. A smile is probably the simplest act of kindness we perform and one which carries considerable potency. Receiving a smile a stranger in an unexpected moment of internal stress can alleviate feelings of powerlessness, providing a warm glow of recognition and human support. Without much thought, everyday we perform acts of kindness for those we love, our friends and our colleagues. Likewise too, we offer kindness to people we don’t know. For example, we may offer a space in a line of traffic for a driver waiting at a busy junction. We may put this down to simple good manners, but this act of selflessness may have had significant impact for the other behind the wheel who might be facing a tough day ahead. Our casual wave and the briefest of eye contact may have been enough to alter a deepening sense of gloom for the person.

This then, is why kindness has been and continues to be so incredibly important to me in my recovery from my depression. My experience of kindness is this - it’s always unconditional and it’s offered in these forms:

  • love

  • affection

  • humanness / humanity

  • patience

  • tolerance

  • sympathy

  • good will

  • tenderness

  • forbearance

  • courtesy

  • gentleness

  • respect

  • unselfishness

  • understanding

  • grace

  • robustness

  • honesty

  • individual

  • humour

  • empathy

  • professional / professionalism

My attempt to end my life this time last year released a flood of kindness which buoyed me through my intense treatment in hospital and subsequent recovery. For three months while on the ward I received countless letters, cards and gifts from family, friends, friends I have yet to meet, and strangers. Every one of these acts of reaching out to me told me of my worth and were unconditional in their generosity. For this is what kindness means to me, it’s unconditional. The giver expects nothing substantial in return. There is no quid pro quo. In a way I had cried out in pain and others (you) responded with concern, warmth and love. Our innate human capacity for compassion.

The struggle I face with my depression is one based on overcoming a deep sense of low-worth. Simply put, I believe I have little of value to offer except a deeply flawed character with the tendency to harmfully affect my world around me. To receive unconditionally contrasting expressions of the opposite truth from so many people has undoubtedly helped me shift these self-destructive views I hold. Not only were these acts of kindness helpful during my hospital recovery, but they continue to be the case. In a box on a shelf next to the desk where I’m writing this I have every one of the cards and letters I have received in hospital and since. I dip into this box whenever I feel my mood beginning to dip. The written affirmations of love and concern for me will forever hold value.

Likewise too, I continue to receive messages of love and support through my social media outlets, in particular on Twitter. Here I receive nothing but overwhelming recognition for who I am and the life I live. Only once have I had to respond to a hurtful comment about my depression. Everyday I interact with my global community, I receive far more in return than I could ever expect or wish for. Everyday I’m thankful for the unconditional warmth I receive, even if it’s the simple act of acknowledging my contribution with a ‘like’. There are folks who I know I’ll never meet who show me incredible depths of kindness through their words and their attention to my presence within this online world.

Then too, there is the unconditional professional compassion I received and continue to receive from the psychiatric carers involved in my recovery. Here, the doctors, the nursing staff and support staff have chosen a profession where they will care for others, many in deep distress. I recognise the selflessness involved in their work where they give of themselves so others may recover. I am deeply grateful for their innate humanness given to me within the professional context of the hospital psychiatric ward where the intention was maintaining my safety and enhancing my recovery. When thanked to a person they replied that they were merely doing their job. I hope they know there to be an element of untruth to this response because they are special individuals.

Receiving kindness, particularly when in the depths of my depression can be tough as well as heart warming. There is a juxtaposition between acknowledging I am loved and recognised to believing the kindness to be unwarranted. While it is important for me to understand I hold worth for others, it is extremely difficult for me to believe this for myself. This then is where much of my struggle lies and indeed, it is a horrendous struggle at times. The fact kindness shown to me as a constant, is consistent and is forever unconditional is instrumental in helping me slowly shift the destructive beliefs I hold.

This kindness becomes a powerful reference point with which to base my recovery.

As per my ability to self-criticise, I do give myself a hard time for not always acknowledging acts of kindness shown to me. This may be in the form of a failure to respond to messages, Tweets, Facebook posts or cards and gifts. In the depths of my struggles and with huge amount of contact I receive, I find it difficult to physically keep on top of what I term to be ‘my admin’. Days and weeks will go by while I fight my depression, all the while building a deepening sense of guilt about not having responded to the kindness I’ve received. To this day I find myself shuddering with unhappiness with my lack of what I think to be the good grace to respond. It’s difficult to make amends for this except to focus my energy on my recovery in the knowledge this is what people are hoping for me.

It goes without saying I am deeply and truly grateful for all I have received from family, friends, social media contacts, professionals and strangers. Thank you seems such an inadequate expression but in our English language, those two words carry the greatest weight for me. I cannot (and will not) single out any specific expressions of kindness I’ve received and I hope for everyone who reached out to me, you know you have touched my life and you helped me make the decision to live and not to die.

Thank you.

World Mental Health Awareness Week 2020 - Monday

The theme for this years World Mental Health Awareness Week is kindness. This appeals to me greatly and I hope to expand on this when I write a daily blog over the coming week. My intention is to mark this week with personal insights into living with and recovering from severe mental health issues. Having kindness as the theme will certainly assist me in remaining grounded in one of my strongest recovery tenets, this being “be kind to myself”.

It’s probably best if I write an update about my recovery so far. It’s difficult to believe this time last year I was in hospital suffering from the worst episode of depression I had encountered. Indeed, I had attempted to end my life by jumping from the Isle of Mull ferry. You can read about this incident from an earlier blog post here. This hospital admission was tough for me but it provided me with the best opportunity for recovery I had experienced in many years. I returned home after three months on the ward with a renewed sense of self and a determination to overcome my illness.

As is often the case, the few months after hospital are the most hopeful for me and indeed, it seemed as if opportunities were falling into my lap. We made a significant change to our lifestyle by moving ashore from seven years of living on a yacht. This in itself was a huge investment in my recovery process because I hadn’t realised how insular my life had become on the boat. With recovery comes aspirations and I confidently made plans for the months to come and the following year ahead.

I wasn’t alone. I continued to receive generously warm professional support from my Community Psychiatric Nurse and regular appointments with the Psychiatrist. My wife too, as always, was the bedrock in assisting me maintain clarity and remain grounded when instability threatened. My wider family too were just a phone call away with their expressions of love and support. Friends and online acquaintances provided me with friendship and connection which helped me gain a sense of myself in the world.

The months leading up to the Christmas and New Year passed in a blur and I find it difficult to remember anything of note from that period. Mostly I recall a huge sense of relief of having made it out of the crisis I had found myself in earlier in the year.

I think my mood was dipping before Christmas but in the January of this year, I descended into a bout of deep depression. This time there was no catalyst, nothing I could define as a trigger. The winter months have always been tough for me but this itself was not the cause. It was another battle with my inner demons and my existential angst. The spectre of suicide became a concern for me again and this time, because I had made the attempt almost a year before, I knew I had it within me to carry through my desire to take my life. Quite simply, I believed once more, I have nothing to offer and my presence in the world is a burdensome waste. Allied with this was the increasing exhaustion of continually fighting to remain alive, indeed , merely function. Because I dipped so low again, I was on stand by for another hospital admission to keep me safe.

Thankfully, and for no discernible reason, I have climbed out of the black pit I lived in since Christmas. It has been as recent as two or three weeks I have lost all thoughts of suicide and self-destructive thinking. I find myself enjoying my engagement with the world again. Hope is welling up within me once more and this is expressed in my increased activity. My connection with the outdoors has been a constant through my life which has served to enhance it even when I’m at my lowest. However, it’s always a sound indication of my recovery levels when I notice my positive presence in the outdoor realm. This is the first step to regaining a sense of self-worth. Despite the inhibitive lockdown, I have managed some wonderful long walks where I have relished my immersion within the wild landscapes I’m fortunate to live close to, even wild camping one night a week.

In an attempt to break my cycle of depression, earlier this year I had announced 2020 to be my year of adventure. I made a fairly good start too by bivouacking in some pretty challenging weather conditions (and enjoying this!). However, frustratingly, the pandemic brought me up short and like everyone else, I have been twiddling my thumbs aching to get back out in my kayak and venturing further afield. Despite my inactivity, I have used this time to evaluate the importance of adventure and wildness in my life. This time has been helpful for me to write about this and to plan future expeditions. Moreover, I have been honing the incredibly useful process of mindfulness, particularly during my periods of lockdown outdoor exercise.

I am in recovery from my depression, an almost continual and fluctuating process. At long last, once more, I see my potential and recognise my value. The key is maintaining this awareness and strengthening the foundations. I hope by sharing my insights every day this week, I will help raise awareness of what it means to live with chronic life threatening depression and the continual hope of recovery from this.

Compassion

On the morning of the 14th February, I had a meeting in the Oban Lifeboat Station with two senior representatives of the R.N.L.I.. This was a generous response on their part to a complaint I had raised regarding a film the organisation were supposed to be producing about me, living with severe depression and suicidal ideation, how connection to the wild through walking and kayaking helps me live with this, and finally, how being an R.N.L.I. volunteer was helpful for me too.

It’s not right for me to detail the nature of my concerns and subsequently, the substance of the meeting too. Needless to say, I was deeply grateful my issue was responded to with good grace, concern for my well being, and a desire to set matters straight. This was not a conflictual meeting at all. Without dancing on eggshells, we addressed the main issue concerned. Heartfelt apologies were given and accepted. This was really important for me. Then the conversation moved to the future and how the footage and content of the film would best serve the R.N.L.I. This led into a fruitful and in depth discussion about opening a wider public dialogue about mental health matters, more specifically suicide.

I did not realise this fact, but the second highest reasons for lifeboat launches around the country are for the desperate souls who have completed their suicide or survived an attempt to do so. I noted my shock, when realising I am one of those statistics. The three of us agreed the issue of suicide is more than often too delicately discussed, with me going onto insist, it should become an important part of our societal lexicon rather than being hushed up. There is wide ranging national debate about how this can be achieved, where the information and messages about suicide do not lead to vulnerably ill people becoming motivated to attempt to complete their suicide. This was the main issue of the film about me. I had been frank and honest during production and this was deemed to be too descriptive by two mental health agencies who were approached for advice about the film. While I understand the need for caution, especially the huge outreach the R.N.L.I. have, I did feel it was a lost opportunity to share my story in a manner which does not glorify mental distress and suicide in anyway whatsoever.

There was little more to discuss about this issue. I am hugely relieved to now know what the intentions for the film are and I look forward to my future involvement with this.

The unintentional theme of the meeting for me was - compassion. This first came up when I described my experience of when I was taken aboard the Oban Lifeboat from the CalMac rescue craft which had found me in the sea. With a broken voice of emotion, I described when lying on the stretcher in the pungent warmth of the lifeboat Thomas, a crew member knelt by my head keeping me awake with warm words of encouragement, often referring to my kayaking and connections this had brought for me and the R.N.L.I.. As an aside here, when I walked into the Oban Lifeboat station for the meeting, I was greeted by Thomas. For the first time since my rescue last May, I was able to grip him by the hand and emotionally thank him for all he did. Not only did he look after me on the lifeboat, he also visited the hospital casualty to find out how I was and to speak with my wife. I’m eternally grateful to him and all others who saved my life that day.

Through our discussions about the future of the film, we realised the heart of the matter is the selflessness of the lifeboat crews. We surmised because of this selflessness, it may be easy to miss mental health worries crew members may be dealing with. After all, the culture of a life boat crew is one of robustness, an essential attribute given the primary purpose of their existence. We discussed many scenarios where my messages through my personal telling, of hope, suicide awareness and living with deep depression could be shared for the benefit of all in the R.N.L.I.. We did not come to any conclusions, and I was happily satisfied to know this is a subject which increasingly gaining ground within the organisation.

I experienced yet again, the selfless compassion of the R.N.L.I. personnel from the two managers at our meeting. Their kindness and warmth were authentically generous.

Here I quote from a passage in the book I’m writing about my kayak journey around Scotland where I visited each of the Scottish R.N.L.I. lifeboat stations. This piece comes from the chapter about Longhope in the Orkney Islands:

“Even though they were strangers to me, I connected with each of their names on the plaque, because I understood the motivation which impelled them, despite knowing the danger this entailed, to heed the call for help and head out into that fearsome storm on the night of 17th March. I was certain that their motivation was not for fame or glory. I was certain too, it was a motivation which runs far deeper and because of this, can be difficult to quantify. There are sometimes insufficient words to describe the compassion people hold for strangers, which compels them to risk everything of themselves, to at least have a chance at saving a another’s life. Maybe it can be best explained like this and here I paraphrase from Kurt Hahn, the founder of the Outward Bound movement; “The experience of helping a fellow human in danger, or even of training in a realistic manner to be ready to give this help, tends to change the balance of power in a person’s inner life with the result that compassion can become a primary motive.””

In recent months I had lost sight of the R.N.L.I.’s compassion in the fog of my sense of indignation and self righteousness believing I had been wronged by the charity. From the moment I tabled my complaint to the meeting yesterday, it was the compassionate sense for my well being which set the order for the day. It’s a relief for me believe this once more, compassion is the core our nation’s treasure, the R.N.L.I.

The Man Who Jumped From A Ferry - Epilogue

Epilogue

Now I’m out of hospital, homeostasis is not an option. Keeping things, the same in my life will not address the fundamental sources for my depression. During the three months in hospital, I had plenty of time to evaluate how I live. With the help of my CBT therapist, I clarified the changes, when made, I determined would help keep me in robust good health.

Change can be challenging. Remaining within my comfort zone may seem safe, but doing so, continues to expose me to the familiar, and thus comfortable, elements which may stunt my recovery process. In much of my life, I haven’t been content to remain in my comfort zone. My many sea kayaking adventures are a testament to this. There were innumerable moments during these expeditions where I could have taken the safest path but instead chose the more arduous. The rewards for doing so were always incredibly richer.

I identified the key element in how I live which hinders my pursuit of joy in life as being loneliness. I miss day to day contact with others. I miss seeing my friends. I miss having friends to visit and stay. I miss sharing my love of the outdoors with friends and others. My outgoing and richly blessed online life cannot sustain this for me. There are many occasions where I find myself aching to meet Twitter friends for real, to chat, to share time with. Yet, it is through Twitter where I find my most intimate connections with others. It is where daily, I am recognised and valued. Of course, it is not possible to meet people in reality – I would have to travel the world to do so.

I can make changes in how I live which will enhance the possibilities for me to connect with others. The fundamental change is one which carries the greatest potential for loss and sadness for me. It requires me to give up on what I have long believed sustained me but in fact, I have sadly identified, is a major limiting factor in my life.

This is living on our yacht.

We have therefore decided to move ashore. The key reasons for this huge decision are these. I am isolated from others when I’m aboard on our mooring in Tobermory Bay. There is no chance of anyone dropping by and there are times when I can spend a week on board without any contact with others apart from my wife. The only contact I have is an online virtual one. This then leads me to become attached to my laptop, searching my timelines for any recognition for my existence. Although I purport to live a free and healthy outdoor life, this is in truth not the case. I am often cooped up in our saloon, sitting in the same spot all day. Only moving to make coffee or visit the heads. My wonderful photos often trawled from my numerous photographic catalogues. Of course, I do get out and about. I take the dog for a walk and there are times when I get my act together and go kayaking.

Yacht Life

This leads onto another debilitating factor regarding living on our boat in the bay. To get ashore we must row one of small dinghies. This means anything we need to transport ashore must be packed to keep it dry, and loaded in the small boat, rowed ashore, lumbered up onto the shore. There are many times when arriving at the shore, I have realised I have forgotten something on the boat which needed to be brought over. For example, the scutter in taking stuff ashore often demotivates me to the point I’ll choose not to go kayaking. Additionally, if I do go kayaking, there’s not much room aboard to dry my wet kit. All this occurs when we are on the mooring. In the winter months, we are berthed alongside one of the pontoon docks in the harbour marina.

This leads into another aspect which I have increasingly found challenging for me. Living on the boat through the winter. Winter is not a good time of year for me at the best of times. It’s when my mood is most likely to lessen to the point where I’m bordering on a depressive episode. Winter here in Tobermory can be tough. The winds often blow from a quarter which makes living aboard uncomfortable because of the noise and movement. When one of the many winter gales passes through, I can be guaranteed very little sleep. Another major factor which I’m increasingly finding challenging is keeping on top of dampness through the winter months. Condensation is a problem leading to things becoming mouldy and damaged as a result. We attempt to keep on top of this but it’s a never ending task. In the mornings I can be woken by large drips of condensation falling on my head from the window above me. With the heating we use, the boat is generally warm and cosy. We don’t suffer from being cold but with heating comes condensation.

Finally, I have come to accept I’m not a worthwhile handy-person. There are innumerable maintenance tasks which are required to keep the boat functional. For some reason, I find it extremely challenging to keep on top of these and ultimately perform them to a high quality. I accept I’m self-critical of myself, but this aspect does weigh heavily on me. It is an issue which I ruminate about and can build within me as a negative force.

There will be a huge amount I’ll miss about living on the boat. The first one, and this is probably the key one, is my loss of identity. I’m known as LifeAfloat to my many followers in my online world. Moving off the boat removes me from this attribution. I will personally miss acknowledging myself as a yacht live-aboard. An important part of my personal identity will be given up. This saddens me.

I will miss the elemental aspect of living on the boat. This is the deep connection I have developed with the weather, the sea, the tides, the birdlife and the boat herself. I will miss falling asleep to the movement created by the swell. I’ll miss becoming intimately knowledgeable about the weather and living my life, so I’m prepared for it and not too discomforted. To a certain extent I’ll miss the challenges the elements present because they remind me of my place in the world.

I’ll miss the opportunities to drop the mooring and sail off into the wide blue yonder. The itinerant lifestyle, not feeling anchored to one place. However, to be honest, we don’t do this half as much as we would like.

So, it’s with an extremely heavy heart, I’ve decided to bring to end my living on a yacht. It has been seven wonderfully interesting, joyful, challenging, and rewarding years. I’ve learned so much about living a simple life. I’ve learned much about myself too, namely I’m keen to live adventurously despite my age. Most of all, I’ve enjoyed the alternativeness of my lifestyle to the point it became a completely normal existence.

We are moving into a delightful terraced house looking over Tobermory Bay. We’ll have a garden which will offer us uninterrupted views across the bay, the Sound of Mull beyond and then the mountains of Morvern in the far distance. It’s a comfortable house with plenty of room. We were extremely fortunate to find this house, because rental accommodation in Tobermory is rare.

So, what are the opportunities?

I will have a room as my ‘office’ where I’ll write without having to clear my stuff away when we need to eat. We’ll enjoy all the aspects living in a house as opposed to living on a boat. Namely, no condensation. We’ll have a spare en-suite guest room.

There are many Twitter and Facebook friends I want to meet and get to know. Additionally, it’ll be so much easier to then share some wee adventures together; kayaking, walking, exploring Mull.

The latter is extremely important! We hope this will mean we no longer live in isolation with no visitors. We make this room available to all our friends, even those we have not yet met. I am particularly keen our house becomes a hive of visitors where we share time together and connect. There are many Twitter and Facebook friends I want to meet and get to know. Additionally, it’ll be so much easier to then share some wee adventures together; kayaking, walking, exploring Mull.

There will not be scutter involved in rowing everything ashore before I can enjoy a day out kayaking or walking. I’ll simply open the door and walk down to the quay. At the end of the day, I can wash and dry my salty wet kit without stringing it out in two small cabins. I think this means I’ll get out on the sea far more often.

When winter arrives, I won’t be struggling with the gales and the darkness as much as I would be on the boat. This will be good for my mental health.

I will invite friends around and folks can drop by. My life will become less lonely and this too will be good for my mental health.

Finally, our dear dog, Ziggy, is becoming stiff in his legs and no longer jumps with the youthful confidence he once had. Living in a house where he doesn’t have to jump into or out of the saloon will certainly benefit him.

Although I will no longer be a live-aboard, I’m not relinquishing my LifeAfloat moniker. It is my intention to spend more time on the sea in my kayak than I have ever done before. There are huge swathes of coastline for me to explore. Additionally, I will buy a traditional clinker built sea going sailing skiff. I have my eye on one already. I will do this once we have sold our yacht.

The View We Will Enjoy

This leads into the final point. The money we’ll realise from the sale of our yacht will not disappear into the general pot. We’ll divide it equally for each of us to realise our adventure dreams. I’m formulating a huge expedition to take place in a few years. Karen for example, has always wanted to trek through Iceland on a pony. There are many other aspirations we wish to fulfil. The key here is the spirit of ‘Anna-Maria’, our yacht, will live on through our commitment to enjoy adventures from her sale. This fills me with excitement. The possibilities!

We have no further plans than the immediate ones we have made. We aspire to live a life with as small a footprint as we can. This move into the house is a stepping stone towards our next life adventure.