Overcoming Chronic Mental Illness

I was six when I had my first dealings with the NHS over depression and anxiety. In primary school, my music teacher and my priest both took their own lives and my granddad died - causing me to lose my hair through alopecia. 

During high school, I lay on a trampoline with my friends around me, where I said to them that I was so exhausted and I could not carry on. I was suffering a break down but I did not know it. At sixteen, struggling to cope, seeing no way out and feeling a disappointment to my loved ones - I tried to take my own life. I was taken to hospital - the NHS staff were wonderful who took care of me and I spoke to a Consultant Psychiatrist - who were all great but I left knowing I was going back to my life of being unwell.

I was told in college by teachers that they knew I was suffering but if I was not able to talk, they did not know what to do with me anymore. At this point, I still struggled to ask for help. I just couldn't do it even though I knew it was obvious to everyone around me that I was in crisis.

I had been in denial for years about my mental illnesses, thinking if I tried harder to be normal like everyone else who seemed to cope with life, then my problems would go away eventually on their own.

Everyone else seemed to cope fine - why couldn't I?

At university, I had to take time out for a year as I had become ill again. My University tutor was wonderful. I had cognitive behavioural therapy and started taking anti-depressants. I also did group therapy. All of this really helped and I was able to complete my degree.

However, in a false sense of security, I thought now that I was feeling better I would come off my anti-depressants a few years later. 

Over the following few years, I made great leaps, however, when my life felt that it should be at its best and I was on top of the world, I could feel the familiar feeling of illness beginning again. In hindsight, I know that I may need to be on anti-depressants for life.

I had nothing to worry about, my life was all in order, I had no money worries, I was in a great relationship and yet, to make an analogy, it felt like a radio was blaring out white noise in the background. My anxiety started building again - I felt paranoid that everyone was watching me, judging me and didn't like me. I started to avoid going out, I didn't want to leave my house. 

Around Christmas time, I knew I was becoming ill as I felt a panic attack whenever I had to leave the house. By Summer time, my body and mind - having had near a year of constant blaring of anxiety and nervous agitation and energy - totally shut down. 

To make a comparison, if I was a computer, the power went off. I felt numb and emotionally dead inside.

This time, like the time before at Uni, I felt very comfortable asking for help. I went to the GP straight away. At this point, it seemed I was becoming ill every five years or so. I was distraught when I spoke to the Doctor's saying how I knew I was a failure and if I couldn't have overcome my illnesses by now that I never would. I felt like giving up. This was the worse I had felt. Maybe being older and more conscious of it, I felt very worn down. 

By this time as well, I had taken a few knocks - having had to deal with being caused long-term injury in work (I was assaulted) where I had to live with my life being changed forever, everyday and deal with the pain but they got to move on with their life. I had also dealt with being bullied in work.

The GP's that helped me were so wonderful and empathetic. They met me where I was emotionally and said how sorry they were that I was so depressed. That meant so much to me.

I was put on a wait list for higher-intensity cognitive behavioural therapy and was put back on anti-depressants (but not the ones that worked for me a few years ago). We tried a couple of others first - one: gave me a sleep hangover and the second: I put on three stone. Not withstanding that when I went to the GP I was so despondent and then it took another 6 - 8 weeks for any tablet to take effect. Eventually I went back on the tablets that worked for me a few years beforehand, which I am still on to this day. That helped me.

I experienced huge relationship problems at this time which pushed me even further into despair. By the time Christmas rolled around, I called the CPN who had spoken to me in distress saying I needed therapy or help - something - I felt I couldn't go on. It was still another six months until I had my therapy. 

By this time, I had fought so hard to help myself - despite the fact I had no energy to do anything.

I felt - this is it for me - if I give everything and still want to end my life then so be it, but first, I would go all out. I am so glad I did. 

I went to my high-intensity cognitive behavioural therapy and it really helped save my life and has set me up to live my best life. To this day, I use the techniques I built from these sessions to keep myself well and to recognise any signs that my stress is building so I can deal with it.

During these sessions, I also dealt with the trauma from my assault - which until my therapist talked to me about it, I didn't realise how deeply it had affected me.

I managed to get myself into full-time work, I now have my own car and I am financially independent - dreams I had always had but due to my illness in the past I wondered whether I would ever be able to do for myself.

I have been a high-achiever throughout my life but being mentally ill alongside being a perfectionist was very difficult. Since being in full-time work, I have managed to achieve my best, even achieving my dream job despite having to overcome a lot of obstacles due to my past illness.

I have never thought that my past illness should be a barrier to my success and so it has proved.

It has been a difficult road and I have certainly taken a lot of knocks along the way, I sometimes wonder whether I am one of those people who will always experience tough cards being dealt, however, I appreciate every day I am here (I am so glad to be alive and to be here) and every day is a win.

I am privileged to know that I have helped so many people - especially those in mental health crises. I know that I continue to help others.

I am so grateful for the stability of my job, family life, friends, money and most importantly, my health - both mental and physical. I have made my health my priority since I was last ill - and it has done me the world of good.

How can you ever help anyone else unless you are well yourself?

I am in unprecedented territory as I have some self confidence and self esteem for once, I have insight to my conditions and I am realistic. I, of course, can never predict what the future holds but I am proud to be me and I wouldn't swap with anyone. I can't wait for my future!

I completed an online will in the writing room and went up to the top floor of the police station and climbed onto the roof.

For some reason I've never really shared my issues with work colleagues even though they're some of my best friends. Obviously, as you'll see, people know I've had issues but I'd say only 2 or 3 know to what extent.


I've always struggled with various issues. Depression runs in my one of my parent's family and Tourette's Syndrome in my other's. No one knew of the Tourette's side of the family until my parents fought tooth and nail to have me diagnosed when I was a kid and suddenly little 'isms' in relatives made sense.

I struggled with that growing up, which made me depressed, and I isolated myself a lot. Eventually I grew out of most Tourette's symptoms when I hit mid to late teens but still have the odd facial twitch when I'm nervous (my face is going like the clappers now by the way ha!).



Even though I grew out of all of that the depression never really went away. I had the odd period when I was really down and would self harm in my late teens/early 20s. I joined the police in my early 20s by accident and that gave me some confidence but I'd still get the odd time when I was really down - made worse by the job at times.


In 2013 in my mid 20s, whilst living with my now ex partner the police knocked at the door and he was arrested for theft. This was a massive shock and because we lived together and he had stolen items in our house they went for me too. I understood to an extent as the officers didn't know me - and even if they did it's a valid line of enquiry. 

With my near decade long relationship in tatters and my job hanging in the balance - I found myself extremely depressed. I was on restricted duties - I wasn't suspended - and I managed to stay with my block doing desk-based work thanks to my then-Inspector having faith in me.

I was interviewed voluntarily, thank God, and eventually NFA'ed but PSD were still gunning for me. I was depressed and I did not want to live. I was paranoid as I believed I was being watched by PSD and suffering with the loss of my relationship and the potential loss of my career.


After 6 months of PSD dragging things out I had had enough. I was on nights and completed an online will in the writing room. I went up to the top floor of the police station and climbed out of the window onto the roof. I don't think I knew what I was going to do really.

I felt my phone ringing constantly but I ignored it. I don't know how much longer later my colleague found me. They panicked - which made me panic - which was maybe not their finest tactic haha!

As clichéd as it sounds, I don't know what happened after that.

Oddly enough, days later, I was cleared by PSD.

After that I struggle with more issues than before. I still have periods of depression, I suffer with paranoia which at times can be severe, I sometimes have panic attacks when someone unexpected knocks at the door and I am generally an anxious person.

I still work on patrol and none of the issues really affect me when I'm in work and concentrating - they certainly don't affect my work. Nonetheless I am terrified to tell my colleagues anything of this because I know I would be seen differently. I don't want to be seen as the twitchy, paranoid one who has panic attacks and used to cut himself (which incidentally is quite paranoid).


I hit ten years service this year and not once have my issues affected how I've dealt with an incident. But I don't feel that the job, certainly not my direct command team, would support me if I was completely open and honest about my thoughts and feelings. 

I kept telling myself that I needed to "Man Up".

I have been a Police Officer for almost 15 years. Within the 15 years I have conducted a variety of roles, from Neighbourhood, Intelligence, Response and ARV’s.  In this time I have dealt with numerous jobs that have been life threatening to members of the public and me.

I was always the type of Officer who wanted to be first at scene, back up my colleagues and do more than my fair share of the work.

With all the horrendous jobs that I dealt with over the years, the hangings, murders, child deaths, horrific RTC’s, I held a macho kind of attitude, of crack on.  That’s just how it is. I would be weak if I felt anything differently.

Nearly a decade ago, I was on duty, when I was dispatched to a job where I ended up getting injured, cutting my shin to the bone and damaging my hip.  I had some time off and attempted to recover. My confidence was knocked. I returned to frontline, even though my hip continued to be problematic and again I kept telling myself that I needed to “Man Up”.   

The year after this, I attended a job that would change my life forever, in so many ways that I never thought possible.

I paraded on for duty, I was the doubly crewed car, and our first job was to attend a house where the occupant had been placed due to a violent domestic relationship.  The circs of the job were that we had been directed there to speak with the resident as a laptop had been left on the doorstep of the premises.  There was no further information at the time.

On attending the address at around lunch time the occupant was in the garden, weeding. I spoke with her and established that the laptop was that of her ex-husband and that he had left it there. He had not been seen and there was no interaction. We contacted the FCIU and asked if there was any further information, to which we were told that the concern was for the safety of the ex-husband.  The thought was that he was suicidal.  Myself and my colleague had a laugh and a joke with the occupant.  We left the address and the occupant had no concerns.

At 18:05 hours the same day, we were patrolling when the radio transmission came out and it stated that there was a report of a stabbing in progress, at the address that we had attended earlier.  The hairs on my neck stood up and everything slowed down.  I instantly knew that with all the years of previous calls similar to this that were false that this particular one was real.  We made the fastest possible speed that we could to get there.

We land first at scene, I alight the Police vehicle and I rack my baton, something that I had never done previously when attending a job.  The front door was open and everything was silent.  I get to the door first, and enter shouting Police, there was no answer.  I enter the premises, glancing in the lounge as I passed, nobody there.  I continued and approached the kitchen.  The view of the kitchen opened up and as it did I saw blood splatter across the walls and a large pool of blood on the floor.  I got to the door way, and there was a large male crouched down facing away from me over a motionless blood drenched body.

I shouted at the male, who looked over his shoulder straight at me with a blank expression.  He stood up and turned to face me with a large bladed kitchen knife in hand.  Everything seemed to slow down.  I shouted, I screamed at him to put the knife down. He continued to approach and I raised my baton up over my shoulder.  I couldn’t back off, what happens if I did? Would he stab me, would my colleague be next?  I have a two year old at home.  They say it in movies that your life flashes by your eyes.  It’s true.  The thought of my loved ones, the thought of other people who may be next if I backed off.

Two feet away the male placed the knife down on a kitchen unit, then began to reach for his waist band area.  I continued to shout and scream and then I knew I had to take action.  I struck the male as hard as I could while reaching with my left arm to drag him down to the ground with fear that he had further weapons.  When the male was on the ground I continued to strike him with my baton, fearing for my life, until my colleague placed him in handcuffs.  We then dragged him out of the address.  My colleague remained with him.

I returned to the female.  The same female that we had dealt with a matter of hours previously.  She was gasping for air.  She was helpless, covered in blood and defensive injuries.  The females eyes looked at me as if I was the answer to her prayers and as if I could save her.  I commenced first aid and did my best.  55 minutes of chest compressions, without a break while ambo worked tirelessly, doing their best.

Unfortunately she wasn’t saved and it sticks with me, the look of helplessness.  The worry and pain in her eyes as she looked at me for help. 

I then remember being in the A & E resuscitation room when they pronounced life extinct.  So matter of fact, so clinical.  I looked at my hands covered in blood, sweat dripping from my head, shattered after the events.  The head trauma surgeon when telling me that life was pronounced extinct that the attack had been a frenzied attack with some power as the females sternum had been snapped, and that they need a specialist tool to break the sternum in surgery as it is a hardened bone.

I then remember being sat in the enquiry office of a Police station alone. I stared into space.  I have no idea for how long I remained there.  It was until I was told that I needed to do my MG11 and get the file started.

There was no debrief, welfare or concern for either my colleague or myself.  It’s our job, it’s what we do, it’s what we are paid for.  I needed to “Man Up”.

The days, weeks and months passed and I found myself waking up with vivid images of the females eyes, and a voice saying “HELP ME” when I was sleeping.  I woke in hot and cold sweats.  I stayed quiet. 

This was almost every night.  As time went by, it went to every night.  My moods were changing, my attitude was changing.  I struggled with, what did I miss, could I have saved her.  What did I do wrong, pushing family away from me as I felt so bad about the events.  My mood and sleeping were at an all-time low.  I was struggling to function due to being tired.   

Along with the pain I was feeling emotionally I was struggling with my hip.  This resulted in a hip replacement and being told that the Force would be looking to pension me off.  I struggled again to take this on board.  My world was falling apart, emotionally and physically.

Then in 2017 I realised that I was becoming a person that I didn’t want to be.  I was being grumpy distant.  I went to my GP where I felt a release and I broke down.  Everything came flooding out.  I felt broken, yet I couldn’t tell anyone at work as I thought people would laugh, I would be seen as weak. 

I was advised to speak with OHU.  Which I did and after a long convoluted procedure I eventually received EMDR therapy, and continue to do so. 

No counselling, support or help was offered until I decided that I needed help.  Others may feel the same, yet not feel strong enough to get help or seek it.

I would be keen to help you in any way that I can to raise awareness, show people that it isn’t a taboo subject and that you aren’t weak or less of a person should you need help.