Mental Health Awareness week is coming to an end and, for the first time really, I've been quite active about raising awareness of mental health issues on social media. During the last week, I have read about the issues faced by others within the diabetes community. I have also had several conversations with fellow diabetics about their mental health and shared my own thoughts in turn.
During a couple of conversations, diabetes related complications became the subject. It seems very reasonable to be fearful or anxious about complications, whether you've experienced them personally already or you've simply heard about them - yet managed to stay complications free. These particular conversations were on a mentor to mentee basis (I help to mentor a handful of people living with T1D) and so it wasn't appropriate for me to use that time to fully open up about my experiences. Some of my mentees pay for my time and it's important to focus on their issues, rather than drift off into my experiences. However, as we touched on some aspects of mental health in relation to diabetes complications the memories came flooding back.
Before we tuck into the main course of this blog post, I'm going to put a trigger warning here. Below, I will be writing about diabetes related complications, depression, and suicide. So, if you're upset by those subjects or they trigger you in a negative way, then please close this window and drop by again later for another blog post. Thank you.
Type 1 Diabetes had never really impacted upon my mental health. I'd had the condition for around a quarter of a century, from childhood until my early 30s, and although it was a massive annoyance and it nearly killed me a couple of times it wasn't affecting my life much. I'd been married, had two children, I was working for a TV channel in London, drove a fancy car, and I was flying around Europe to play poker tournaments. Much more was going on at that time, too! Needless to say, I was enjoying life and I didn't have much time for diabetes. My autobiography will tell you about that time.
Diabetes got angry at my ignoring of it. It'll do that, it's very needy. As my vision began to change, as little black dots appeared, as things became more and more blurry, I knew that I couldn't keep my head in the sand forever. I'd already been diagnosed with retinopathy at that stage. If you've read my previous blog posts on the subject, you'll know the story from then on.
What I haven't ever spoken about is the affect that this period had on my mental health. Sure, I've joked that it was "a pretty dark time" but that's about it. The truth is that it was a terrible time. Once the initial feelings of anger, self-pity and guilt had subsided, I felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and that didn't disappear very quickly at all. It took many operations and around 18 month - 2 years of my life until I found some hope again.
The title of this blog is The Darkest Hour. When I think of this time, many hours were dark (stop with the puns!) yet there was one particular time when I had firm plans to end my life. I am sorry to my friends and loved ones if reading that upsets you. The time frame is a little hazy, but it was around a year into my life as a very, very, visually impaired person (almost entirely blind). I'd had several operations on one eye with very limited success and no "work" had taken place on the other one at that stage. I considered what the future held for me, what had been, what I'm currently missing. A spiral of depression began and I became comfortable in planning my demise. So much so that I told a trusted person of how long I'd be waiting before calling it a day. That time was approx' a month after my next operation. I figured I'd give some time for things to settle down after the op, talk to my surgeon about what could be done from then on, and if the situation was to stay the same then I'd go through with my plan.
Losing my sight was devastating, but it was also the fact that it was happening to me in my 30s. I imagined what might happen in my 40s, 50s and beyond. I had no intention of slowly decaying and putting my family under the stress of witnessing that and caring for me. I won't be writing about my plans to die in any detail in this blog post or anywhere else. I'm absolutely not here to put plans into heads.
I'm still here, in my 40s, so you already know that things changed for me. I remember that day as clearly (pun?) as any in my life. After getting the thumbs up from my surgeon, I could look my children in their faces and see their eyes and their smile. Everything changed. Oh sure, I've made monumental balls ups of many things since that day in 2012, but I've become more appreciative of life, more understanding of the desperation felt by others when life becomes intolerable, more respectful of diabetes and more engaged about my own health.
So, here's a thing; I was wrong. Wrong to make plans to end things, but in hindsight I understand why I was in that position. What I needed was support to help me deal with the devastating news and the long period of time as a severely visually impaired person. What I got was a meeting with a blind persons charity, in the eye clinic waiting room, surrounded by many other patients. That was followed up with a home visit to ask what I needed in a practical sense for living at home. I was given a talking blood glucose meter. Cool, thanks. No psychological support was offered.
I feel very lucky. The brilliance of my surgeon saved my sight and, in the process, my life.
I've been wondering how to end this blog post without sounding patronising and without doing the "My DMs are open, message me if you want to talk" virtue signalling nonsense. How about this:
If you're in a bad place with your mental health, diabetes related or otherwise, hold on. Life is long and sometimes things can take what seems like ages to change. You may feel that change is impossible, even if change means you must adjust to new circumstances, but it will happen and you can adjust. Seek the right help to support you. You'll need professional organisations and possibly psychological help. Be honest with your family and trusted friends.
You might also benefit from just talking. There is no shame in feeling depressed, anxious or even suicidal and when it comes to diabetes, we got you. I got you.
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