I never thought of myself as someone who had a mental health problem. I grew up during a time when it was not talked about, or even recognised. And if you did feel a bit down you were told to just ‘shake it off’ and carry on. One certainly didn’t discuss it with others.

But about eight years ago I was walking to work one morning and 100 metres from the front door of the office I just stopped in the middle of the footpath and burst into tears. I don’t know how long I stood there, it may have been half a minute or 10 or 15 minutes, but I just stood there crying. I suddenly realised what I was doing, shook myself, ‘sucked it up’, as they say, and carried on to work.

That evening, when I told my wife what had happened, she told me I needed to see my doctor and while I just wanted to forget about it and move on, I finally agreed.

My doctor was great. He cancelled his next two appointments and sat and talked with me for about 45 minutes. He could obviously see what was happening with me, even though I still didn’t ‘get it’. He talked about stress, work pressure (huge at the time) and depression – the first time I’d considered the idea of being depressed – and worked out a plan to help me get things back on track – a couple of weeks leave, followed by reduced hours for little while and a lighter work load. Fortunately my employer was understanding and supportive.

A few months went by and everything seemed to get back to normal.

Three years later it happened again. I was sitting at my desk and couldn’t focus on anything. I couldn’t work out how to do anything. All the normal, everyday things that I usually did as a matter of course suddenly seemed overwhelming. I couldn?t do a thing. I just sat there looking at my computer, wanting to burst into tears.

This time I had a better idea about what was happening, but still struggled with the concept of ‘being depressed’. I went back to my doctor and again he worked with me to put a plan in place to help me. This time I took a couple of months off work, signed up with a counsellor and went on medication. This helped me get back on an even keel and over the last few years I have been applying the ‘tools’, that my counsellor provided, to put everything back together. While there are still occasions when the ‘black dog’ of depression creeps up behind me I now know how better to deal with it. It no longer has control of my life.

These episodes of depression have forced me to think about my life; to ask the question why me – why do I struggle with this, what causes it, and is it my fault?

Looking back I realise there are a number of people in my family who have suffered depression and other sorts of mental health issues. My father was on anti-depressants for more than 20 years, but I never knew until just prior to his passing away. His father, my grandfather, returned from the trenches in WW1 supposedly with a gas related illness that prevented him from ever working again. I now know it wasn’t gas, but shell-shock; he was struggling with post traumatic stress disorder -anxiety and depression. Perhaps he was predisposed to stress issues? My father’s sister, my aunty was agoraphobic and hardly ever left her home. I have other close relatives who struggle with anxiety and depression. So is my problem hereditary, or is it a result of my upbringing and the environment I lived in?

One of the things I have become aware of during my journey is my need to feel accepted and the impact rejection, either real or only perceived, has on my feeling of wellbeing.

For the first 8 years of my life my father was in the Royal Air Force and would often be posted away at the drop of a hat; at one point he was sent to Germany for a year and a half. I wonder if, even at that early age, whether I had a sense of abandonment.

I remember when I was 11 or 12, we had just moved to New Zealand and my two sisters and I got to know some local kids. Most Saturday afternoons everybody would go to the Saturday Matinee at the local movies and sometimes I just couldn’t face going. It was an almost agoraphobic feeling; I just couldn?t face it. Then after they left I would sit and cry – I wanted to be part of the group so much, but something inside just stopped me from going.

I was born in 1950 and grew up during the sixties – the Beatles, hippies, flower power, etc. And when I grew my hair long as a teenager my father couldn’t cope. Ex RAF, short back and sides, he just couldn’t handle it. It reached a point where we just stopped talking to each other because all we’d do is argue. He just completely cut me off. We would go for months never speaking. There were occasions when he would see me coming towards him on the street and he’d cross the road and pass me on the other side rather than acknowledge me. The long hair was the issue and he rejected me because of it.

I think all my life I have been craving acceptance and even when I was quite young I learned to ‘opt out’ as a coping mechanism.

I remember sometimes I would feel ‘blue’ and I would just curl up in a corner with a book. Everyone knew I just needed to be left alone; this could go on for two or three days. I just wanted to be by myself and I could hide in a book. In hindsight I see this was my coping mechanism for when the real world was getting too tough.

In my twenties and thirties, two or three time a year, I would have to take off for a few days. I would just drive, it didn’t matter where, I just needed to be alone – no pressure, no responsibilities, going where I wanted, doing what I wanted, answering to no one – hiding.

One of the things I have struggled with over the past few years as I travel this road of recovery, is, as a person with strong Christian beliefs, how do I reconcile my knowledge of God’s love for me, and a belief that He is looking after me, with the fact that I have this struggle with depression. Whilst it has never brought me to the point of doubting my faith in God, it has certainly been a challenge.

I didn’t recognise at the time that these were all signals/signposts pointing at something that needed addressing, (in my life/head) and it wasn?t until I was well down the track of recovery that I was able to go back and reconcile them.

The most important thing that I have learnt whilst on this journey is this, ‘You can’t do it alone and you don’t need to’.

We need to be aware of the signs. If, for no apparent reason, things are going wrong, if you’re acting out of character, sleeping poorly, losing your temper, struggling with things that you have always been able to do, or just have the sense that things aren’t right, don’t just ignore it and leave it in the hope that it all comes right – talk to someone.

We need to talk about it. A good place to start is your family doctor. If they can?t give you the time you need, find a counsellor that you are comfortable talking to. Talking with family is good too, but they may be too close to the problem to help and sometimes speaking to someone who is not personally involved in the situation can work better.

Guys need to be able to talk to other guys. Women seem to be able to talk to other women really easily. They sit down and natter about all sorts of things – sometimes to total strangers. Guys don’t – but should.

If we had the flu or a broken leg we wouldn?t hesitate to get help, but with mental health we still feel there?s a stigma attached to it. It’s changing but you still have to be very brave to say ‘I’ve got a problem’.

And remember, ‘It is OK not to be OK’.