‘How I survived having a nervous breakdown’
As a successful broadcaster, Liz Fraser, 42, never expected to face mental collapse. Now in recovery, she has founded Headcase to help others speak out and change the face of mental health
LAST YEAR, I HAD A COMPLETE nervous breakdown. As distractions from doing the laundry and sorting out my tax return go, it was pretty effective.
Like most of us, I’d heard the term loads of times, bandied about with its sister phrases like ‘going ballistic’, having a ‘manic day’ and ‘stressed out’. They’re phrases we chuck out there like fifiltered selfifies, without having a clue what they actually mean or represent.
So when I found myself curled up on a sofa for months, in so much physical pain I could hardly bear it, unable to eat or sleep, I didn’t know what the heck was wrong with me. First came the months of nightsweats where rivers of salty panic soaked through the whole bed, then heart palpitations, blinding headaches, ‘explosions’ in my eyeballs that left me limp, mood swings on a shocking scale, constant high-level anxiety, and fififinally full-body spasms that looked like epileptic fits.
I thought I had flu. Megaflu. Or possibly Ebola or Bubonic plague.
I did the usual and went to my GP, described my symptoms and mentioned the minor fact that my 23-year relationship had just ended, I had been enduring huge financial, professional and personal stress for over a year, and felt in a state of constant terror, mixed with dizzying free fall.
They decided to run some basic tests, and eight vials of my aching blood were duly sent away to what I thought must be the ‘Laboratory For The Broken’, to be examined for everything, including self-pity and weakness. I remember desperately hoping they would find something physically wrong. Early menopause,
addiction to flat whites, anything other than the dreaded ‘Mental Health Issue’.
But no. I was declared to be a perfect specimen of physical well-being. It was a nervous breakdown caused by chronic, extreme stress over a long period. I needed psychotherapy, psychiatric treatment, six months off work and mood stabilisers.
I’d had various mental health ‘Things’ in the past – post-natal depression, panic attacks in my thirties, an eating disorder in my teens. But I got over them with CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy), and time.
Being the stubborn old ‘I can cope!’ mule that I am, I refused to believe that I was ill, so ignored everyone who told me I needed help, and thought it would go away if I carried on as normal.
But, predictably, things got worse. Much worse. I spent a lot of time in a so-called ‘catatonic state’. Though it sounds similar, it’s not nearly as much fun as a gin-and-tonic state. It means you’re immobile and unresponsive. I spent hours huddled on the flfloor, staring at a wall or the carpet, unable to speak or react.
For those who care about me this was terrible and distressing to see. They’d no idea what to do except wait for me to come out of it, sometimes forcibly prising my fingers open or trying to make me speak.
But still I refused treatment. I tried to be as normal as possible, for my children. However hard it was, I got up, dressed and was there for them before and after school. I made sure I went out every morning for a coffee, to be among people, write, and meet my work deadlines. My job as a broadcaster commenting in a jolly and engaging way on stories in the media requires a ‘yes I can’ attitude.
The second I was back home that façade vanished. I reverted to silence, unstoppable crying, and feeling the raging heat and pain in my bones and muscles return. To the outside world I was OK. But I wanted to be dead. Some might call this selfish. But you can’t explain such irrationality to anyone who still possesses rational thought.
During this time I blogged about some of this, thinking that it might help others. Helpfully, I was then trolled online for being narcissistic and attentionseeking. A shining example of our fantastic understanding of mental health. This, of course, made everything worse.
I had never cut myself before. Why would anyone do that? But it happened and felt oddly comforting, like a thing I could see, that represented the hurt I felt inside. It’s the only part of all of this that I still find almost too hard to talk about.
I had already seen a clinical psychiatrist and a psychologist, as advised by my GP, and they had both diagnosed mixed-state depression and mania, caused by extreme, persistent psychological stress. But I refused to take medication because I was scared of the negative side-effects, and I felt it would mean I was a failure. I still thought I could get better by myself. But the cutting was the final straw. I researched my symptoms, and everything I read told me I was now in a high-risk category for suicide. And so, after six months of this hell, I relented; I took (and am still taking) mood-stabilising drugs that moderate the extreme lows and highs, and bring you into a state in which you can rest, recover, and finally start to help yourself to get better.
After a few days of feeling jumpy and angry, I felt calmer, and was more focused. I could sleep a bit, and eat a little. I carried on seeing a psychologist. Soon I was able to face things head-on, that I had been too weakened to deal with before. Five months on, I now believe in a future, and I feel I’ve got my life back.
I’ve learned a lot about fragile minds and how common mental health problems are. I hear the same thing over and over again: ‘Oh God, me too!’ These are functioning people who live with a mental health issue, but never dare to talk about it, face it or seek help, because they’re afraid they might be mad, weird or socially stigmatised. The minute they feel they can safely speak out, they feel a sense of relief and can start to get better.
And that’s why I’ve set up Headcase, an honest, ballsy and funny website and podcast series that smashes received ideas of what someone with mental health issues looks like, does, and thinks. I still feel very weak at times, but I know that I’ve seen the bottom, and if I see it again I’ll know what to do to bounce back.
n For more, go to inmyheadcase.com or follow @Inmyheadcase on social media; kickstarter. com/projects/headcase/headcase-hub