Your health your wealth

National Farmers Union

North eastern meeting 7 November 2019

Inverurie

Session:

Your health your wealth

Hello everyone

I am very honoured to be here and slightly worried that I am here under false pretences, that maybe I don’t have much to say that will connect with you, that I am speaking to a world in which I am alien and which I do not understand.

I am meant to be speaking about mental illness in rural areas and my own journey with mental illness and what has and hasn’t helped me.

And yet I am going to start off with stereotypes: my name is Graham Morgan, there are many labels that apply to me; I am a dad but I haven’t seen my son for many years, I work for the Mental Welfare Commission for Scotland which is an organisation about the rights of people with mental disorder which means that I have the most wonderful time travelling across Scotland; one day I might be on Mull another in Dumfries, one day in Wick and another in Brechin, it is a lovely job, not brilliantly paid but not bad either, quite stressful but not as stressful as my last job.

Just a bit about the Mental Welfare Commission, we visit psychiatric hospitals, we write good practice reports, we comment on policy and legislation but one other thing we want to do is to hear the voice of people from less heard communities, I am keen to hear the views of people from Remote, Rural and Island communities. If having heard this talk any of you want to meet up to talk about such issues do get in touch with me afterwards.

Now back to my talk; I have mainly lived and worked in rural areas for most of my life, having in the last 23 years lived in Kingussie, Carrbridge, Nairn and Cardross, but I have very little knowledge of farming or agriculture, I know little of your culture and the issues that you face. I have just written a book called START and have some copies with me here today; it makes me feel like a very clever person to be able to call myself a writer, but actually I am not that bright and am not much of a writer. The book is about mental illness, but maybe more importantly it is about love, the Highlands and Argyll.

I used to work for a group called HUG action for mental health in the Highlands, and rushed all over the place trying to make the world a better place for people with a mental illness.

I also have a diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia, and of depression and of anxiety and of alcohol abuse. I have spent the last ten years being compulsorily treated for my illness: if I were to refuse to allow the nurses into my house, refused to take my jag or see my psychiatrist all sorts of awful things would happen.

As is the nature of stereotypes, I make the assumption that you would be surprised that I have never lost a job because of my schizophrenia, that at the time I was going into hospital most frequently I was still managing an organisation that employed seven staff , that I have generally had the most privileged and enjoyable of lives.

It does almost surprise me; the privileged life that I lead. I have a close family of my partner Wendy and her two wee children; we spend a lot of our time in semi organised, semi exhausted chaos. I live near the Clyde and love going walking along the seashore or in the woods at the back of our village. I have lots of friends, much to my surprise. For some reason I have an MBE for services to mental health, I have addressed the United Nations on the subject of mental illness and appeared at the Scottish Parliament on the same subject, I do lots of things that tend to keep me occupied and get me lots of praise, or in the case of Wendy and her children lots of teasing for being too big headed.

But back to the Schizophrenia, I do worry each time that I meet someone new how they will react when I tell them my diagnosis, I am not sure why because in the many decades of being public about it, I have only had one bad reaction to it. But there is that label, those images on the television and in the papers that can mean that people can be wary of people like me.

I think it is the readiness with which we can come to negative conclusions when we look at different communities who we may know little of that can obscure the humanity and the vibrancy we all have.

And on the subject of stereoptypes and preconceptions; although I have spent much of my life in rural areas, I have rarely had any long conversations with farmers and farm workers such as you, I have a hazy idea of strong stout people, people who don’t take fools seriously, people reluctant to talk about emotion; self-reliant and self-resilient, people not interested in culture, not the best of talkers, perhaps more conservative than most people; I could go on, it is not the most attractive picture and maybe not the worst of pictures, but in its own way offensive, just as a caricature of someone with schizophrenia is. To be typecast and to have assumptions about who you are and how you think and behave and what your values are is always wrong, always leads the way to prejudice and the loss of the sight of the person behind the label. I much prefer to find people as I see them, do hope that I do not meet strangers with suspicion in my mind.

I imagine the reality for many of you is that you do not earn the fortune some people think you do, that you work long hours and do a type of work most people have little conception of in its harshness and effort. I imagine you are bound by bureaucracy, and stressed out by forms and deeply worried about Brexit. I would guess that it can be hard to get time to be with family and friends and to just relax and that the idea of a mental health day off because you cannot face the snow in the morning is just plain ludicrous. That getting access to someone to talk about the stress you are under would feel just plain impossible, when you have a field to plough or animals to tend to and hardly any signal to your mobile. That there can be that tension of how to pass on a loved business, land, and a home, to your children and equally sometimes a tension from your children as to whether they want to take it on; that the weather can be bleak, the night cold, the mud clingy and your eyes red raw with tiredness but as I said, I know very little about your lives.

What I do know is that there is a high rate of both suicide and mental illness among farmers, if what I have just said, that wee collection of assumptions about life as a farmer has any bearing on the truth then I am not surprised.

Everything I have said so far, seems to me designed to emphasise difference, I have not only labelled myself with my illness but you with your occupation and way of life, and in that we can create barriers, view each other as impossible to understand or connect with.

I am going to spend the next few minutes talking about my experience and what does and does not work for me, I hope that by the end of the talk I will be a bit more approachable, that I will be understandable and that maybe some of the things that have helped me and my friends may be the sorts of things that might help you or your friends or family or acquaintances.

I will not tell you the whole of my life, but maybe just a glimpse will help.

My dad was a fighter pilot in the Airforce and my mum a nurse, I moved house many ,many times, went to a boarding school for most of my childhood and then came home when my parents started a business; selling and designing and building yachts. I was never hit and I was never short of clothes or food and was always loved, I had a superb education but when I came home to my family, somehow I was in a mess and for some reason, not even known why by myself, very angry with my parents.

I was first referred to mental health services when I was at school because I just did not speak or engage in class, I refused to see the psychologist, fearing he would peer into my mind and take me apart. In some ways I wish that I had had the knowledge I have now, maybe some help in those early years might have prevented some of the decades of illness I have been through since.

At university I was angst ridden and earnest and not very pleasant, a whole mess of anxiety and torment, I used to walk around trying to convert the born again Christians to the meaninglessness of life. I did not cope, found it a struggle to stay alive, a struggle to even speak or do the work I was meant to do.

One day after harming myself I forced myself to go the doctor’s surgery. I was terrified, I had no idea what to do or what to say or how to say it, I walked up and down in front of the surgery for about an hour and, as is sometimes the way; when I finally walked through the door I found that the receptionists had seen my fear and had made sure there was a doctor available for when I finally came in. They sent me straight upstairs, where again I was almost incoherent and could only show him the cuts on my arm but he was warm and calm and soft and cared for me.

I know sometimes people do not get the reception they want when they pluck up the courage to ask for help, and that can feel like the most humiliating slap in the face, but personally I have usually been treated very well. In the latter years when my marriage was falling apart and I was often in hospital, often under a section, seeking death, talking of realities no one else understood, often having my every move observed and convinced I was evil, I have nearly always found most of the staff around me to be wonderfully open and caring and calm. It has helped me incredibly; experiencing this, helped me to have faith that usually I will be treated with respect and compassion, that when my world is pretty much shattered and almost impossible to navigate, that even though my friends and family cannot understand what is happening to me and even though the people helping me do not relate to my reality that they do not judge, that they want me to be ok, will help me regain a footing in life again when I am able to.

I said earlier, that I have often spoken out about mental illness, and as I said there is that edge; that worry that people will look at you differently. That by admitting to what appears to be weakness, you are, in effect, inferior; not so worthy, and I must admit that to an extent I share that internal stigma. I know that when I am in company I can struggle to speak or a be a part of the conversation, that I can feel very much apart and on the edge, and yet when I do talk, people seem interested rather than dismissive, and also, this mantra of ‘It’s good to talk’; I am sure it is, but often when I talk about what I am going through with people I care for, it can all feel worse and I can feel so self- conscious, However I am also aware that when I suffer and refuse to speak to the people that are close to me, I become even more distant and apart and that when I have allowed myself to confide in Wendy, my partner, when I am struggling, that it has sometimes felt like a huge relief, despite my humiliation at what seems like my weakness.

Even when I am furious with myself when, on very rare occasions, I cry because I miss my son who I have not seen for many years, there can be something good at allowing myself to be vulnerable with the people that I love in my life, to be held and cared for and loved.

I do not tell Wendy everything about my psychosis as it is called, she has enough going on in her life already and sometimes does not want to hear the very darkest of the places I can find myself in but I do have a community psychiatric nurse who I see every two weeks when she comes to give me my jag. When I first met her I was slightly alarmed and suspicious. I am sure she wasn’t even born the first time I went into hospital but she is fun and she is bright and she can get me talking even when I don’t want to talk. She can pick up on how I am feeling and keep an eye out for me, and in turn she will tell me of her life, in fact we mainly pass the time wittering when she comes to see me but I always know that she is there if I need someone to talk to about those things I would not talk about to even my dearest friends.

And that is wonderful. I think everyone should have someone like that in their life. We all have things we struggle to express and make sense of and sometimes it is a relative stranger who, nevertheless we trust, who can make a difference.

I have been wittering away for a long time now. I am going to finish up with what it is, I think, gives me the quality of life that I do have.

First of all I am going to confuse you, I do not willingly take my antipsychotics but when I have been taken through my medical records it is easy to see that when I don’t take them I end up in hospital and likewise my antidepressants. Until a year ago I used to think that the antidepressants made no difference, but I had this most awful emptiness in me; a void. I felt that I had little emotion, maybe no emotion, I felt sad and I struggled so much to find any spark in me, and then my antidepressants were doubled and although I am hardly the life of the party, I am now more vibrant, more likely to talk to Wendy and the children in the evening.

I am not saying that medication is the only answer, and in fact I doubt I have answers to anything so please do not think I am an expert; I am after all, an example of someone who has had decades of poor mental health! But I do think medication works for some people and that the instinctive rejection we have of medication in our culture is not necessarily the most well thought out reaction to what is after all, an illness.

For some people medication makes a difference, in my case, many people are convinced that it keeps me alive.

What else helps? My work is a double edged sword, it keeps me occupied, keeps me away from the worst of my thoughts, makes me feel useful and valued. In fact for many years it was my obsession. But I think that obsession with causes and achievements was one of the things that led up to the break up of my marriage and the unutterably awful years around it.

I now work part time, it is wonderful; I have every Friday with Wendy for us to enjoy time together, I don’t have much money but at least when I get home I am not so stressed that I cannot think, not so stressed that the first thing I do is take a whisky and at work I have a wonderful line manager. It is strange but one of her main tasks is to make sure that I don’t work too hard, don’t become too caught on the latest terrible thing that has happened. We have team meetings in each other’s houses based around a shared lunch. I meet my co-worker in her house and we are as likely to sit in the garden playing with her puppy as staring at an agenda on the computer. I think it is making work both fulfilling and enjoyable but not such a huge thing that it consumes you that helps me. I must admit I don’t know how I would manage that if I had responsibility for land and animals and workers.

The other thing that really, really, helps me is the natural world, I am very used to those nights when thoughts crowd into my mind and what should be the refuge of bed and sleep, becomes the opposite. In fact I woke early this morning, it is four in the morning as I write. I am used to hearing the shipping forecast at 1.50 am and at 5.15 am and I am used to having the radio on to try to distract me from my worries but one thing that really helps me when I am consumed with anxiety and maybe even misery is to be out in the natural world.

I don’t quite know how to express it but to walk along east beach in Nairn in the wind with the clouds above me, looking over the Firth to the Black Isle; somehow the movement of my body in the wide world soothed me, or sitting on a bench by a river watching the peat dark water and the occasional ripple of a fish or, now that I live by the Clyde, sitting on a rock listening to the sea birds and the wind while Wendy , searches for sea glass. Or walking Dash the dog, keeping an ear out for the curlews and oyster catchers, smelling the sea, both of us getting muddy on the mudflats. These things I find, give me a sort of peace and I do not know why, but for me sometimes that is all I need when the world is too hard to bear.

Life for all of us can be hard in many different ways, Wendy and I have both had fathers who have died this year. When Wendy’s dad had only months left to live, we treasured what time we had with him, tried to give him as much pleasure as we could and also did the routine things. So every day after work we drove across the hill to make his tea, tidy his house, do his washing; things like that. But it was hard sometimes. It is hard to know what to do when the children say they loved their papa and miss him so much and upsetting when we saw him so sad and in so much pain and it was hard for Wendy when she took him for his final appointment at the hospital and heard him trying to establish just how long he had left in this world.

Sometimes we can be still be absolutely exhausted and so confused about our emotions. I am slightly bewildered as my dad died just two weeks ago; still slightly stunned, slightly confused that the world carries on, that families do the things they do, work happens, shopping needs bought.

One of the ways we have dealt with these things initially, was by just treating ourselves. We have both been on diets trying to get more healthy but for a few months Wendy went back onto the chocolate and the crisps and I went back onto the whisky. For a time it was just what we needed; a chance to just indulge ourselves. But now we are being more sensible. I know full well that the peace and oblivion of drink feels wonderful but plays havoc on my sleep patterns and also know full well how bad it is for me when I cannot sleep, so now I am trying to get back to a sensible pattern with my alcohol.

In a more healthy sense we try to create small treats for ourselves as a couple, every other week the children’s father has them and I will never forget a weekend a couple of months ago where we just indulged ourselves, were there just for each other; went out for lunch on the Friday, did not get out of bed until midday on the Saturday, went out that evening and again did not get out of bed till eleven in the Sunday. It was bliss, a bright moment in a harsh few months. I do not know how or even if you can create times to treat yourself or your family but when it is possible it can make such a difference.

The other thing that Wendy has said, which is so important to me now is to allow ourselves not to be perfect, not to beat ourselves up when we get things wrong; do not achieve quite as much as we want to. For me, taking the pressure off makes such a difference.

I have just two last things to say, and I do not want to seem patronising in all these things that I find help me, they probably have no bearing on what might help you in your lives and indeed I imagine much of this talk of stress and tiredness may have little bearing on your lives, but one thing that helps me and which I am often so reluctant to do is exercise. I mainly get it when we take the children for their swimming lessons, while the children are being taught, Wendy and I swim slow lengths of the pool together; talking, being soothed by the water, relaxing and moving all of our bodies – it is a wonderful feeling just as this morning’s walk with the dog in the rain has left me feeling somehow happier than when I first woke up.

I struggle to speak in company, often I despair of this. When, in the evening, Wendy begs me to say something, says she is used to quiet men but that I take it to an extreme I can worry so much about this. I am lucky I have other forms of expression, I write a lot, it helps me hugely, I love to create beautiful words that communicate something of who I am. I do not have too much time to do this now but it does makes a huge difference to me; finding that time for me to do some of the things I love.

We also have some amazingly accommodating friends, we used to walk outside of the village every couple of weeks to visit another family and they got so used to my silences that they left small things on the table for me to occupy my hands with when I have gone to my silent places: knowing that some people know me well enough and love me well enough to accept such social incompetence is a huge relief.

And lastly, it can be a huge burden carrying that mask of coping and being ok, sometimes you just want to take it off, to really be you, to not have to pretend any more. I have worked alongside people with a mental illness all my life in a group called HUG action for mental health, in drop in centres and in hospitals and often I find that it is that chance to be with people who will get me; who will understand straight away, who I don’t have to explain myself to and who I do not have to educate. That relief of walking into a room and just allowing myself to be me, that is incredible. It does not mean that every person I meet with a mental illness is my bosom companion just as I would think that not every farmer that you meet is going to be your friend but I do like that space where I can be accepted and feel safe.

I know there are various help lines and support groups for farmers, I have no idea what they are like, and know you will hear more about such things today. I would imagine anyway, that sometimes it is helpful to be able to speak to a kindred spirit who understands what an average day will be like for you, sometimes that can take the edge off of a hard day.

How can I finish? All my life I have worked in mental health, nearly all my friends have a mental illness, it is after all such a common experience. I have had a serious illness all my adult life. And despite this and despite the fact that it is life limiting I have a wonderful life, I am incredibly lucky. Mental health is talked about all the time now, In fact it can get a bit boring sometimes, it is in the media, the Royal Princes have put the subject on every ones lips and yet there can still be a sort of stigma, a sort of shame to say you are having trouble coping.

Although it is not the same as a physical illness, I do think it is good to think to ourselves that just as we need a good diet and exercise for our bodies so do we need to carry out basic maintenance on our minds, they can get weary and tired and confused. What helps my mind may not help yours; my need for constant support is very unlikely to be reflected with many of you but when your mind goes wrong as it will and I am sure has for many of you, do get some help for it. When you know what helps you when you are struggling, try to make that help happen and when your friends and family are struggling try to be there for them.

We all need each other in different ways and all have different ways of helping each other. It’s pretty basic in a way ; sometimes it is as simple as saying ‘Life is hard; who is it in my life that I trust enough to talk about it to?’ and sometimes it is important enough to say ‘This cannot go on I will ask for help, I will phone Breathing Space or another help line, I will make that appointment to see a doctor, I will. maybe for a short time, even accept support from a mental health team and hope that I do not have to go on a waiting list before I get the help they can offer.’

It is a pretty obvious thing to say and I am sure that you already know it but you have a right to get help when you struggle to cope and a right not to be so alone when life is difficult. Mental illness, depression, anxiety that dark night we sometimes inhabit, we can and do feel ashamed of it but there is no need to, it is as natural a part of life as anything else and something most of us experience. To hide it away, to say that it is shameful; that is a strange reaction really. Such things are far better addressed in some fashion, what fashion that might be is of course very individual.

Thank you so much for listening, I am going to finish with some shameless self promotion, I have taken copies of my book START with me today. START is a good book, it is very direct about my experience of mental illness, of hospitalisation, compulsory treatment and the awful breakup of my marriage, it is also very positive about the help I have got and about the friends I have made and the love I have found with Wendy and her children and of my love of the natural world. If it doesn’t sound too soppy; do think of buying it, it took me ages to write and I would love it if a few people would read it. If you can’t buy it today, do look it up on Waterstones or Amazon and see what you think of it.

That’s me, it was a pleasure coming here today, I hope you have a wonderful evening and I hope that my talk has made my world slightly more connected to your world.

Thank you.

(Photo: Stone wall north of Cardross 10 2020)