Need a Brexit coping strategy? Just call Alcoholics Anonymous…
The universe’s message was clear: pay more attention to your daughter, and less to the DUP
So it’s official. The country is losing its mind. For some time now, the nation has not known whether it is coming or going, and the inevitable uncertainty has caused many of us to lose what is colloquially referred to as “the plot”. Entirely. Never in my life have I witnessed the kind of insanity that we, as a country, have witnessed this week in parliament, and I once spent three months in rehab.
As a mental health activist, I don’t make jokes about madness lightly, but I’m struggling this week to do it any other way. I mean, this is BONKERS. I was brought up to believe that in times of national crisis, one should be able look to government for guidance and leadership. But no. For the first time in my life I feel positively sensible in comparison.
In all seriousness, did you see the news that prescriptions for antidepressants have doubled in 10 years? And that many mental health experts are pinning this rise on political instability?
“We live in turbulent times,” said Vicki Nash from Mind, “and the impact of Brexit on the nation’s mental health is hard to measure. We know political and world events can create a great deal of uncertainty.”
Marjorie Wallace of SANE said that “people are feeling unsafe and uncertain due to social and political change”. She raised concerns that too few patients are offered “talking therapies”. Not to worry, Marjorie – soon we will leave the EU (no, really), have an extra £350million to spend each week on the NHS, and everyone can fill their boots with talking therapies! Wait? What’s that?
For me, the best moment of Brexit this week – and oh, it was a tough call – came on Thursday’s Newsnight, when the programme’s political editor, Nicholas Watt, relayed what he had been told when he asked a Cabinet minister what exactly was going on: “F--- knows, I’m past caring, it’s like the living dead in here.”
So that’s good to know. I’ve actually found that having a history of mental illness and alcoholism has helped me to remain sane during this particular national crisis. I have been calling upon all the gizmos in my mental health toolkit so that I don’t lose myself in hopeless melancholy every time I hear Sir Keir Starmer say the word “desperate” on Today.
For example, in Alcoholics Anonymous, which I attend regularly, it is suggested that you work through a 12-step programme, the first of which is to admit to yourself that you are powerless over alcohol, and that your life has become unmanageable. But this week, in an attempt to get through the news cycle without picking up a drink, I found myself adapting that first step slightly: I admitted to myself that I was powerless over Brexit, and that my life had become unmanageable because of it.
I took further steps. I removed all mentions of Brexit from the house, and asked my husband if, for 90 days – or at least until we had officially left the EU – he could try and do the same. “If you love me, you will support me through this period that will, ultimately, bring more contentment to both of our lives.”
As is also suggested in AA, I decided to get in touch with my “higher power” – and by that, I obviously don’t mean the Prime Minister. I looked to the universe, and asked it for some sort of sign as to what I should do. I was immediately given one in the form of a fiveyear-old child throwing a tantrum because she couldn’t find her LOL doll trading cards (don’t ask). The universe’s message seemed clear to me: pay more attention to your daughter, and less to the DUP.
I decided to do some meditation, which involved a quiet 10 minutes remembering that I am exactly where I need to be right now: attempting to clamber out of the customs union. I adapted the famous serenity prayer for this momentous period in our country’s history: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know that I will almost certainly change my mind about these two things at least five times a day.
I have accepted that I am not in control of anything – and that, when it comes to Brexit, nobody is, not even Theresa May. Especially not Theresa May. I tell myself the same thing I tell anyone who comes to me in crisis: that this too shall pass. That even if you find it impossible to believe right now, have faith that, whether you’re a Brexiteer or a Remainer, everything will probably turn out OK in the end.