This week I am, yet again, jumping about a bit but the point is what I need to do to cope with Al

People may wonder why I have Al? Not the anxiety but why the name Al, after all is this not a bit immature? Al is a voice in my head, the bad voice, the putting doubt in my head voice and the everybody hates you voice. My counsellor suggested that the best way to cope was to name the voice, let’s face it to deal with something it needs a name and to overcome the voices I need to talk back. So, I was asked to give it a name and since alliteration is needed I named him Al.

Now he was christened what causes him to talk to me? Through counselling we looked at when he popped up, what fed him his lines and what was the common denominator? He is, note “is”not was, a constant in my life all this time and was most vocal when I was at my lowest. Lowest either through work stress, tiredness, physical pain and down time when I should be relaxed. He was not there when I was busy, was not there when I was concentrating and not there when I was in social company. I have not mentioned one of his strong points, when he was in his element. That was through social media! It was his favourite food.

Social media can be the most evil, absorbing and soul destroying thing in the world. It could be the most useful tool if it could be used properly, unfortunately it isn’t in my view. The purpose seems to me to have been hijacked by those who feel it necessary to intrude, be rude, be ignorant and most importantly be totally unaware of the harm they may be causing. There seems to be no self reflection.

Personally, as I keep saying these are my thoughts, I found it ok to start with. Facebook was a good way to keep in touch, Twitter seemed to be more friendly and Strava ( I included this as social media) I thought was a good way of monitoring performance. So what changed, Al came in and looked over my shoulder that’s what changed. Al decided and told me to get more and more involved to such an extent it became an addiction. Let’s look at each of them and what I have done.

Facebook- enjoyed seeing what my followers were up to and was a way of keeping informed on what the club was up to as well. But then Al came along and my whole perspective on Facebook changed. He thought it was a really good idea to be involved in ‘click bait’ putting what Al and I thought were logical comments. By doing so this opened the abuse door. I didn’t know them but that did not stop them having an opinion on me. Al started saying “don’t take that from him, get back to him” this did nothing but create further abuse and a downward spiral started. Then there is “banter” or a bit of fun, but is it. Normally if some fun is poked by people I know then that’s fine, until Al got involved. I posted about some gym activity when on holiday, nothing impressive in fact in hindsight don’t even know why I did. Then the banter started. I got really upset over it and Al was telling me it’s cos they don’t like you, in fact you are a figure of fun. If they knew the impact they had they would be upset too but when Al is there it don’t matter. These are a few of many instances. Martin told me straight away to drop Facebook, break that addiction straight away, no half measures so I did. To be honest the best thing I did.

Twitter- at first friendly and to be honest rarely used when I was on Facebook but once I dropped Facebook I started up Twitter again. What a shock, how much it had changed. Arguments, bitchy comments, opinionated posts and fake news. Some really good groups, like legal opinions on the Barrister group which put a different spin on the news. But then people started off slagging them off. I could see me slipping into Facebook ways so I dropped it and switched it off. I don’t miss it.

Strava- is this social media? It is in a way due to the interaction with kudos and comments. So what could I possibly find fault with a media that promotes sporting achievements and is full of like minded people. Well it is and on the face of it how could I, but Al saw it differently. At first I thought it was great. All the kudos I got even on the shortest of rides, challenging myself on segments, racing against my cycling mates to get the crowns and collecting cups. I watched my improvements and used the segments for interval training. But then Al started taking an interest. If someone beat my time I had to get the time back, if it was by a big margin I challenged even flagged it. If I saw a short ride with a slow time it resulted in my laughter and no kudos given even if it was their first ride or they were just starting. Al would stoke it by telling me how pathetic they were and should be removed from my follow list. If I could not get a segment I would flog myself to get it and tire myself out or I would get so depressed that both would ruin a perfectly good ride. whoa why haven’t you given me Kudos, Al said it was obvious, they don’t like you. When I saw cheap shots at the cycling club, I went mental (perhaps wrong terminology) and Al turned the screw more and more and it was no longer fun. when I broached this with my counsellor he could not comment as he did not know the app. So I messaged Tommy at Grit Yorkshire who was a semi pro cyclist and suffers from mental health issues. Tom came back straight away, as he always does, and in his normal straight way said Strava is not at fault-I was. Sod segments he said, sod kudos and just use it to measure the miles and the improvement. Just enjoy the ride was his final comment. How true. I still use it. I give Kudos to any ride longer than 10 miles or shorter ones if there is elevation and I use it to measure and use for training. If you beat my time, well done! It’s deserved. If you have started, keep going hand clap emoji all round. Al is getting more and more silent on Strava.

So as you can see I have started starving him of ammunition. Yes he still crops you in my head but because he has a name I find it easier to converse. I can tell him to shut the f**k up because Al is a person not an annoying sound.

Next time I am looking at coping mechanisms, those suggested by my counsellor and those I have found for myself. Just so you know, mindfulness is not in there so if you are wondering what I think of it? You don’t want to know haha.

In part 1 I looked at my first counselling session after being diagnosed as having stress related depression. The need to seek counselling is serious but this next part is really serious. In “Al gets his cycling badge” I told you about the end of the ride when I broke down in tears. Sat in the garage not being able to take my cycle shoes off was the lowest point of my life at that time. Time to do something.

I rang Cerys the next day in hope that she could help, the response was “time for coffee and cake mister”. I met her the same day over coffee and cake (true to her word). She listened and said nothing. Suddenly she stood up and just said “you need more help than I can give” and left. In two minutes she came back with her manager. A new counsellor was assigned the next day and off I went. The first meeting was with a counsellor and a doctor, this was serious! The second session a week later was along the same lines and the doctor diagnosed me as having complex symptoms of severe anxiety with psychotic episodes. I could not stop thinking of the Hitchcock shower scene (target audience). Drugs were prescribed and a set of twelve sessions.

Tablets taken it was time for session 3. In the waiting area I was getting more and more wound up, why I don’t know. Then in the session it became clear, I was not gelled with him. Whether it was the relationship I had with Cerys and was comparing too much or was it his sparkly braces and bright red doc martens? Coco the clown kept coming to mind (cue circus music). If there is one thing that counselling has taught me is to be honest. I was pleasant but honest and at the end said this was not working. He accepted it and a new counsellor was assigned. Don’t be scared to do this folks, it’s accepted practice. It meant waiting two weeks but the return visit proved my point. Straight away there was a different vibe and I felt comfortable. Martin said the follow week would be a hard one and I should have the day off work so that I could properly recover mentally. Gulp.

I think this is the one where you need to be broken to be built back up again. I went to session 5 with trepidation and not looking forward to it. The session turned out to be about my childhood going back through old feelings, the trials and tribulations of growing up in the footsteps of your brother, the loss of my father and THAT birthday card! Suddenly Martin got up and I noticed he was in tears “that has really got me” and walked out the room. What the hell!!! What could I do but get my phone out and look at cat videos on Facebook. Two minutes later an apologetic Martin came back and we resumed after me asking him if he was ok! We talked some more about the the ride that caused the issues and the voices I heard. This is when Al was named by Martin, giving the voice a name would be part of a coping strategy later. At this point Al was pissing himself, “what a state to get yourself in, talking to this muppet” was one of his statements. At the end I felt drained, knackered and tearful; I was in a right state. Martin suggested session 6 would be the same but then we could look forward to making a friend of Al and start moving forward.

Session 5 got me thinking, yes I was following in the footsteps throughout my teenage years, being more a daddy’s boy but I was better than my brother at one thing, sport! I was successful at Rugby playing at a high level, England schoolboy cap for Christ sake. so let’s focus on that, “nah don’t bother you didn’t get much further”said Al. Session 6 followed on, much the same as the last one, discussing my relationship with my mum and the death of my father. Al continued to laugh and put doubts in my mind but Martin fought back and suggested that I was a strong guy. Why was I here then? I was being too strong in my life. Due to my footsteps following I had developed a strong independence, a sod it attitude but one where I felt vulnerable at times especially when things were not going my way. When my dad died suddenly, at an emotional time for me and my wife, I felt the need to be strong for both my mum and my wife so much so I did not grieve for my dad. It was bottled up all these years, especially in recent years when my mum was diagnosed with Dementia; need for strength again.

Let’s just dip into the stuff bit for a while. I was given a prescription for drugs to help me calm Al down, a chemical way of telling him to shut the f**k up. Around about session 5 I was beginning to ache, be tired all the time and a particularly painful back. Cycling was too much as was all exercise. I went to the drs and sent for tests. The back pain was my kidneys not working properly and this was diagnosed as a side effect of the drugs; time for a change.

The new tablets took time to kick in and the pain got worse. Al took the opportunity to increase the intensity of comment and put greater doubt in my mind. This was not the drugs according to Mr Al, it was more serious than that. Clear thinking was not possible for me. On my way home from session 6 I was sat on the train thinking how bad I felt or rather Al was telling me. My wife was due to pick me up from the car park of a small station at the normal time. I got off the train and stopped dead in my tracks (no pun intended). Apparently I stood still staring at the railway line, according to my wife who was watching. Thinking I had dropped something she came on to the platform “ if you have dropped a pound, I would hate to see you when you have dropped a tenner” were her words. I did not respond accept to move closer to the platform edge, I had decided to kill Al. She grabbed me and pulled me back, she later said I was both cold to the touch and in my eyes. I burst into tears in the car for a good ten minutes, I was nearly one of the poor people who become a sad loss. That was the Tuesday.

The rest of the week went ahead in a blur, a fog of nothingness. I did my job so well nobody knew any thing was wrong. Saturday came, went out for a ride but it was not the same. I was tired, out of breath all the time and just wanted to get home. Sunday night. My wife didn’t realise what I was doing. I told her I was off on to the turbo trainer in the garage as she was watching “ her shite” as I called it on the tv. Be about an hour I said. With great stealth and dexterity I took the car keys with out her knowing.

The next bit is what I have found out later. Apparently I set off in the car to a place I knew. After an hour my wife wondered where I was as there is no way I can do this long on a turbo. She turned the corner of the house to find the car gone, and so was I. Thankfully my phone is traceable and the app was showing the phone in a remote place near the East Coast Mainline. She called the police and told them where I was near. I was stood on the side of the tracks when after half an hour the police found me and put me out of arms way. I was taken to a McDonalds drive through car park of all places and sat in the police car talking to a calm, sensitive and listening young police man whilst drinking awful coffee that his colleague had bought us. Why he asked? Why there? Did I plan to kill myself? Is there no one to talk to? I looked at him and just said “ yes I have had enough, yes I wanted to kill Al (that made him sit up until I explained) and no it was not planned. “If it was planned I would have known not to do it on a Sunday as no trains ran on time On a Sunday“ suddenly we both started laughing. My car pulled up with my wife and a female police officer in it. My wife was distraught and just held me. The police apparently said that unless she could guarantee that she could keep me at home they would need to section me. She gave all the assurances she could and I went home. I wanted to kill myself because that was the only way in my addled mind that I could get rid of Al who was now in his element “can’t even get that right!” Were his words.

Monday was a mixture of sleep, tears and little talk. Questions over why I didn’t talk to her about it, how she felt let down almost insulted that I couldn’t tell her. Well there are several things here. Nothing was planned in any great detail, if it was I would have consulted my train tracker app to see the times the train would have arrived, why would I talk to someone who would try to talk me out of it and no this was not a cry for help. This was the only way I could kill Al and the by product was my demise.

I saw several doctors over the week and then saw Martin on the following week. I went over it again but there was no comeback from Martin. He just calmly said let’s strike it from the record, it’s done and no need to go back thus saving me the embarrassment I felt. “What we’re to do is concentrate on the future and coping strategies”. In other words as Martin put it “ let’s stop feeding Al”. Sessions moved to weekly in the hope of getting some momentum up and stopping negative thoughts breaking in. Al was in trouble or so I hoped.

The next blog will look at what we put in place to stop feeding Al the ammunition he required

Last time we looked at the time Al came cycling and the impact he had and still does. So what do you do to cope with someone like Al?

I am sure there are many solutions, many areas of help and many ways to cope. I have always said this blog is about my experiences, my interpretation and if any Counsellors or doctor’s reading this disagree with it then that’s fine. Equally any one living with an Al, this may not be the way you feel.

So, over time with a separation between, I have had two bouts of counselling. One was pre-Al one was with Al. Let’s go pre Al first then we can see how my friend Al gets on with it later.

My first referral for Counselling came from work some two years ago. Work was proving stressful, too much to do and so little time; a common situation. I sort of felt that things were getting on top of me, I felt tired and on a short fuse most of the time then it came to a head at a managers meeting. The senior manager was literally talking shite, management shite, and I felt I had so much to do I was wasting time and I said so. Like a naughty school boy I was made to stay behind and was bawled out. I reacted and bawled back which is not like me, I beat bullies by logic and calm not lowering myself. I found my fists were clenched in my pockets and I was ready to lash out. Thankfully, the thoughts of instant dismissal, the loss of earning and pension kicked in my flight hormones and I walked off. The next day I contacted occupational health and the following week I found myself in a waiting room watching tv, drinking coffee and awaiting my first meeting. Now if anyone has watched the Sopranos, that morning I was Tony when he first went to Counselling in fact I was singing the theme tune by Alabama 3 in my head. “woke up this morning and got myself a gun….” I looked up to see a young lady with a huge smile on her face, perhaps the theme tune was not just in my head…oops.. “do you want to come in?” This was Cerys, my first Counsellor, a lady that was to put all my Soprano thoughts out of head. Two weeks later I was diagnosed with stress related depression and in week 6 we started looking at coping mechanisms. My inner Tony Soprano came out, “mindfulness? Oh please save me from the whale music and pan pipes”. The smile, or was it a grimace, came across Cerys’s face along with an eye roll and I was introduced to breathing exercises without a whale in sight or sound. Week 8 we became a team and week 10 we parted due to funding. Cerys made it clear I was not cured but armed to cope.

These sessions proved useful but I have entitled this post Counselling and stuff. I don’t personally believe that at this time counselling was a one trick pony and there were other parts available, some found mainly by chance. In any club environment, cycling or otherwise, you have friends and you have acquaintances. You don’t always know the answer until something goes wrong. I have been lucky to find two friends in cycling both of whom helped during this time. Being able to talk things through with trust cannot be under estimated. Acquaintances listen but don’t really care to understand and the trust is not there, you can soon find this out. As Bob Hoskins once said “its good to talk” (target audience) but only to the right people, people who care.

However, the greatest impact was found by chance and it was a distant one. A friends comment popped up on social media responding to an article which seemed to resonate. I knew this friend had been through mental health issues and the comments resonated but more to do with what he had found. What he had found was a podcast entitled “GritYorkshire2019”. Intrigued I downloaded it and what a listen it was. Two Toms, Tommy and Dr Tom, interviewing or rather taking to Jonny Brownley about masculine norms. So much sense came out, the way the two Toms talked and the candid comments from Jonny really helped. Grit Yorkshire is all about mental health and sport, Tommy being a cyclist. I have messaged Tommy on numerous occasions and he always quickly responds. All their episodes with a variety of guests give strong positive messages, find it and get it! Available on iTunes podcasts and Spotify.

Part 2 of Counselling and Stuff will deal with the melt down I had, taking Al along and continuing with other stuff. I have split it not only because part 1 is lengthy but I have found Part two to be hard to write emotionally. This blog is therapy for me, coming out of my counselling sessions, so I am emotional when it comes to putting it out there, part two is more so.

See you later

I have previously hinted at this day, the day Al came out on a group ride. Since then my life has not been the same in any way.

The day was a normal ride, a normal route and a good cafe stop ahead. All started off reasonably well, group was a bit fractured at times but nothing untoward. Arrived at the cafe all well and described the route back avoiding road closures and adding a few lumps and bumps to make it interesting. Set off and we had a struggling rider, which I dropped back to help. The group quickly split apart leaving us two alone; almost alone because Al joined us making it three! Al came from nowhere, but quickly started telling me that they were doing it on a purpose and reminding me that it was not the first time. They didn’t like me and were leaving me for a reason.

The group were to turn left but didn’t, blindly steaming ahead. “See that, they are ignoring you, couldn’t care less” Al told me. Al achieved what he wanted to achieve and that was bringing down the red mist. To cut a long story short, we caught up with them and I lost it, totally lost it and told them what I thought of them including those who I considered to be friends. After a strong discussion, I came home and literally cried. A grown man, from a mining town in Yorkshire crying. Time to pack it all in, Al had won, achieved a sort of isolation. I gave it all up for my own sanity and seek help from my Counsellor.

Severe anxiety was diagnosed (Al was getting the recognition he felt he deserves) and a course of further more deep Counselling along with meditation was recommended. Al was loving the battle, none of this was going to work and reminded me the last sessions didn’t work and the best person to listen to was him.

I was at an all time low, emotional for no reason, not motivated but trying to show that all is well even though I wasn’t. Friends and fellow cyclists tried to pull me through by offering to go out, but a mixture of anxiety, loss of motivation, wanting to be alone and embarrassment prevented me doing so. At first I was ok on my own cycling then the first round of tablets kicked in and I became that neutered cat, just wanting to sleep or stare blankly at the tv.

The next time I will put my spin on counselling, the use of drugs and other sources of help. These are my experiences, and I am not advocating one or the other, and what ever path suits you that’s the one to walk down.

See you next time

Last time I slightly introduced you to Al, I didn’t go into detail over how I met Al or rather how Al met me. From the last blog, you will recall that Al had decided to come out on a group cycle ride with me and that was the first time I had met him. Well, over time I have found out that was not strictly true. Leaping forward to much later counselling, more of this later, it became clearer that we had met before.

So when did we meet, Al and me? Simple answer, if not a boring one, is….no one can be sure but one thing that is clear, it was not recent. One way of describing how Al was always there is perhaps like one of those old black and white movies. You know the ones, an old spy movie where the main character is walking down a dark street with a feeling that he is being followed, only when he turns around there is no one there because the follower jumps into a doorway. This goes on and on, perhaps with dramatic music until…….

The day Al comes more prominent in my mind, becoming a voice that I could not ignore any more was a day of happiness. I have perhaps to say, and if any one is reading this and lives with the same feelings I apologise, Al’s voice is not like the “voice of the Mysterons” (target audience reference) all demonic and gravelly. It’s a calm voice, a level voice, but one that is convincing so much so that it’s you. But it can’t be because there is no way I would feel like this or indeed do what I am being advised to do by Al. So when did Al come in, to go back to the first question. We have tracked it down to my 50th birthday, a quite important date you would think. I opened my birthday card from my mum, nothing unusual, but the words were which are as follows:-

“ who would have thought 50 years ago I did not bond with you”.

As usual I laughed it off at the time, showed my brother whose reaction was “for f**ks sake”. Fair enough but at the time neither of us thought that this was the start of my mother living with dementia. This has stayed with me now for six years, constantly reminded of it by Al who says illness is no excuse. So that was the start of it, the birthday card was a trigger, the trigger of a starting gun that released Al from his dark doorway in that moody street.

Next time we shall see how much Al progressed and learned to ride a bike….

.