Nervous Breakdown: A Status Report

It has been over 7 months since I last wrote. Over four years since the mental lights sort of went out. Two years since I finally found a counselor who knew her stuff and could help me.

And life is getting better, finally. Today, I am having a good day.

I work. I eat. I sleep. I rest during the day. I've taken up a number of activities to try to sort my head out. During the summer I swim, snorkel, walk and fish. During the Winter I sing with a choir and go to a support group.

I've started lifting weights to release Seratonin.

I do what my counselor tells me to do: when life gets tough I try to still my fear with meditation. I do this because I have finally learned: Adrenalin is my enemy.

When I'm re-traumatized - and it still happens though the occurrences are down to less than once a month - adrenalin courses through my body. The chemical appears to fragment my being. My thinking will become irrational. I'll be loaded with fear. If you saw me, you could smell that fear rise like poison from a re-opened wound. I have trouble sleeping. I have trouble eating, working, thinking praying.

In short, I'm in trouble.

Meditation and physical exercise move the trauma from my head into my body. My body is much stronger than my mental health, let me tell you. So I let my body deal with it.

And I sleep. A lot. It's odd: during these periods I sleep far better during the day than at night. At night, the nightmares return: the flashbacks of fire and family turmoil. I wake and all I can do is mentally beat myself up. I prefer sleeping during the day.

But to those of you who have suffered from nervous breakdown or other mental illness, or if you know someone who does, I have both good news and bad:

The Good News: I'm regaining my mental health. It's a slow process and prone to setbacks. I've learned not to beat myself  up when these dark periods occur. Rather, I try to go with the flow, knowing that those periods will come to an end. And that on the other side of the dark curtain is a life worth living.

The Bad News: I know now that in many ways I am disabled. I will never fully regain my mental health. I am a different person, if you will. The same guy, yes. The same background. Mostly the same wants and needs. Mostly the same hopes and dreams.

But there is a difference.

I know now that I will never again be able to handle high levels of stress without falling off an emotional cliff and into a period of darkness that can last up to a week. It's a pretty shitty thing to realize, frankly. Most of us pride ourselves on our resilience and energy. We all suffer from stress, after all, and up until a few years ago - and like most others - I took stress in my stride.

But not anymore.

So that's the bad news. But: this 'disability' no longer prevents me from working. It no longer stops me from trying most things I want to. It no longer prevents me from living life. Maybe not quite to the full, but almost.

So if you're going through this same nightmare, I can only give you the following gift: at all costs keep going. Keep up any treatment you're involved in. Do what you can to keep your life in balance. TALK TO PEOPLE, particular those who can listen. Particular those whom you feel safe with.

It's a long road. But it's worth the trip.

Causes of Nervous Breakdown

Like many people, I turn to the Internet when wanting to research a topic. As mentioned in earlier posts, I was not satisfied with what I found on the Web concerning a definition of nervous breakdown, personal stories of those undergoing - or attempting to recover from - nervous breakdown, or a real definition of this disabling life event. Nor am I satisfied with what I've found on the Net concerning the causes of nervous breakdown.

Often, what I did find was very short, lacked substance, and did not provide the background that would enable me to understand what pushed me finally over the edge. These explanations also lacked a 'human' element with which I could identify and compare to my own shattering experience. Consequently, they weren't much use to me which is a shame. Because I guess I figure that if I can better understand the causes, I can safeguard myself from any re-occurrence of this horror.

To overcome these shortcomings I'd like to share with readers: first, what I have found on the Internet regarding causes of nervous breakdown, and second, what I believed triggered mine.

What the Internet Says

Not much, is what I've found. I Googled "causes of nervous breakdown" and I came up with little. And what I did come up with were so broadly defined as to be almost useless to me. The Discovery Health website states that nervous breakdown is caused by "immense pressure, mental collapse or mental and physical exhaustion". An entry in Wikipedia suggests that underlying causes include failing relationships (separation and divorce), financial problems, and problems at work and school. Native Remedies provides a more exhaustive list including 

• Stress
• Depression
• Alcohol and drug abuse, particularly cocaine
• Genetics (family history)
• Coexisting medical conditions, such as vitamin deficiencies, thyroid disorders, movement disorders, skin and limb problems, etc.
• Anxiety surrounding major life changes or disorders, such as pregnancy/after birth/labor, menopause, etc.
• Schizophrenia
• Extreme guilt or emotional problems

An entry on Yahoo states "Depending on the severity of stress that a person is experiencing, it can greatly impact whether they have a complete nervous breakdown, or not. A complete nervous breakdown happens when significant negativity occurs in one's life. Many things can trigger that tip over the edge. When someone is experiencing numerous losses and outside negativity, they become vulnerable. Too often other people see this as a weakness, and they do not recognize that the person that they love has become overwhelmed, which can make it very difficult for anyone involved in assisting their loved one."

In short, and like many areas of human psychology and psychiatry, I suspect that the professionals are a) not quite sure what leads to a mental breakdown and b) should  a person be  experiencing a breakdown, and instead of using that definition, are determined to pigeon-hole the sufferer into a diagnosis that meets current, and sometimes inappropriate, practice. In other words, a sufferer that can no longer cope is classified, perhaps, as depressed, anxious, bi-polar, psychotic, or any number of other sub-classification. The problem with such classifications is that these can lead to inappropriate treatment.

In my humble opinion - and once again, I warn that I am not a professional - my nervous breakdown was caused by a wide range of trigger, many building over time but continually added to, which finally overwhelmed me. 

Genetics and Stress

Genetic Predisposition - a wide range of research indicates that there is a statistically relevant correlation regarding mental illness, a predisposition to same, and hereditary factors. In other words, if a member of your family or ancestry has had a mental illness, you are more vulnerable to it. In my case the deck was stacked against me. My paternal grandfather had a breakdown, I'm told. My maternal aunt suffered from severe depression and committed suicide. My mother suffered from a variety of mental illnesses. That said, she managed to cope and eventually recovered.

My genes made me vulnerable to breakdown or other mental illnesses. When I think back, I realize that I was - and am - possibly more susceptible to nervous breakdown than others. I have always been a 'nervous type'. Even as a teenager, I suspect that fear of the unknown controlled me, or influenced me, more than others. Also, I was and still am a rather sensitive type. My feelings are easily hurt. I have never coped well with stress. That is all part and parcel of my genetic makeup - those characteristics with which I have little control. Consequently, and though I didn't know it, I was predisposed to suffer from a nervous breakdown or other mental illness.

Stress - if you look carefully through the information available on the Internet, one of the biggest factors leading to nervous breakdown is stress. Stress, as we all know, is a part of living. Good stress motivates us to do well or to protect ourselves and those that we love, or to take a risk for our own benefit. Bad stress, on the other hand, can undermine our sense of well-being. And if one is hit by too much bad stress it can result in catastrophe.

Which is precisely what happened to me. Thinking back on it, a whole range of stressors were at work that eventually led to my breakdown:

I am an Expatriate - years ago, I moved to Ireland. I have done my best to settle here. But the stress of being an immigrant can be ongoing. In my case, I constantly had to work at fitting in. I constantly had to work at making myself feel at home. Occasionally, I was accosted by bigotry and xenophobia on the part of those that I met here. Being an immigrant is always hard work. The stress can be ongoing.

Business and Work - I owned a couple of businesses. They demanded a great deal of time, and they were continually stressful. Working weeks could often approach 80 hours or more. When the economy hit a downturn, the stress became more acute. Being a 'Type A' I continually pushed myself. I worked more and more hours. I worried more and more about the future. I knew that I had taken on too much but I wasn't sure what to do about it. Often, I felt trapped, alone, and under continual pressure. When I delegated, the work wouldn't be done. When I didn't delegate, the work added more pressure on me. 

Marriage - if I admit it, my marriage wasn't satisfying either to myself or to my now ex-wife. The house was often filled with an underlying tension. We did not communicate well or easily. We might argue but rarely were issues fully resolved. I felt guilty about the situation, believing that I was much to blame. As the years went on, the stress in our relationship grew. Before I finally left the house, only months before the breakdown, I was suffering from so much stress that my hands shook and I couldn't sleep. 

Separation - but leaving the house did little to help my situation. I felt guilty that I had let down and failed my wife and children. I felt ashamed that I had finally left. My family's reaction didn't help. Phone calls were full of bitter, hate-filled, and accusatory language. My sleeping patterns became more disturbed. Living alone, I was filled with loneliness and fear. My stress levels grew greater.

Finances - these also began to suffer. I worried about the future. I was determined to continue to support my wife and children as I had long promised to. Not supporting them was not an option, nor should it have been, nor will it ever be. But this added to my stress levels.

Depression and Anxiety - I became depressed. Coupled with high levels of anxiety, my sleep was further disturbed. Concentrating became difficult. My appetite suffered. I fought this with exercise and anti-depressants, but I know that at that point I was having very real trouble coping with life. My 'pressure cooker' - in other words, my ability to cope with stress - had become full. I didn't know it then, but it would take only a few more stressors, even small ones, to push me over the edge.

A Tsunami of Stress Leads to Nervous Breakdown

Looking back at it, I now realize that my nervous breakdown was not caused by one event but rather a series of ongoing high-stress situations that pushed me first to the edge and then beyond, and off a cliff that was nervous breakdown. Genetically, I was set up for a breakdown, and more vulnerable to one. Add to that a childhood that was filled with stress, then pile on the ongoing stress of living life as an immigrant, the stress of a failed marriage, business and work-related stress, feelings of guilt and  the shame of failure, and you had me: a fellow ready to implode. Which is exactly what happened.

Looking back, I could have taken other actions and made other decisions that may have prevented the breakdown or at least made it less severe. I could and should have taken a long vacation from work. I could and should have sought more appropriate medical and counseling support, and sooner rather than later. I could and should have talked to my family earlier about what I was feeling and what I was fearing (though I don't know that they would have understood or have been able to help). 

But I took none of these actions. Instead, I became vulnerable to the world around me. And as I've described in other posts, the situation soon grew beyond my control.

If you, or a person you know, is experiencing high levels of stress; if those stressors are battering you from different directions, frequently, and without mercy; if you are having trouble sleeping, having trouble eating, and you are suffering from depression and anxiety - my only advice is to urgently care for yourself. See a counselor that deals in these areas. Share with friends or family. Take time for yourself and treat yourself gently.

Allow yourself to decompress and you could avoid the trauma of nervous breakdown. I sure wish I had.

Get Ready for the Fall

What causes someone, anyone - even a person who appears to possess energy, resilience, and strength - to succumb to a 'nervous breakdown'? If you're interested in the professionals' view, then by all means Google the question and you'll find many answers.

Common to many of those answers, however, are a few factors which include genetic makeup and environmental backgrounds (see previous post, Roots), continuous high levels of stress, anxiety, and depression. Other factors can include alcohol and drug abuse, isolation, and trauma.

In my case, they included many of the above. But because I'm trying to share my particular breakdown, and not those experienced by others, I need to again step back a bit in time.

While I live in Ireland, I am not Irish. I moved here many years ago. At the time of the move, and because of my background, I was convinced that I could live almost anywhere. I was wrong. For over three years all I thought about was moving back home. Of friends and family that I missed dearly. Of places and people and things that I desperately wanted back in my life.

Too, living in a 'foreign' country was an experience which I soon discovered I had trouble coping with. At the time, the county was in recession. We had little money. But we also had bills that I found hard to meet. In the end, and despite the recession, I managed to get a job. I was scared to death because I felt completely out of my depth. A few years later I set up a company with a partner who turned out to be a crook. The business soon failed leaving me with a mountain of debt. At the same time, I was having difficulties with my marriage. We separated. At that point I had - and still have - three children. I missed them terribly.

I was scared shit-less.

In desperation, and wanting to make certain that we could all survive, I set up a company again, this time on my own. I worked my arse off. Over the next twenty years, I branched out. I became partners in another operation. This meant that I was managing two businesses. Simultaneously, I started writing creatively. But I also knew that something was still very wrong. Foremost was the fact that I missed my wife and children. I became very good at beating myself up, telling myself how the separation was completely my fault. I know now that any relationship has problems, and problems must be shared. But I didn't then. I only remember thinking that something was broken inside of me, something that I tried desperately to fix, but couldn't. My hands began to shake, slow tremors that would last an hour or more. Concentration at times became difficult. But I ignored it. Instead, I was determined to do everything that I could to get my family back.

This took place over 20 years ago. At that time, and in hindsight, I think I was near a breakdown. I feel that the reasons I escaped then was the fact that I was also 20 years younger, in better general health, and had the resilience that is possessed by the young.

Through hard work and a variety of decisions, my family and I got back together. Determined to make it all up to them, I worked even harder. The small businesses that I managed continued to grow. I began working over 12 hours a day. And I knew that on many levels, and because of my workload, I was missing the best years of fatherhood. I could not attend as many of my kids' school events as I wanted, nor talk to them as much, or help them with their homework, or enjoy stress-less holidays. I felt guilty about this, and that guilt grew.

At the same time, and like a fool, I decided to try my best to action my dream - the dream of going home permanently again. As mentioned above, I had started to write creatively. A couple of those projects were actually published or produced on the screen to much greater success than I could have hoped for. And while the money wasn't great, the hope of success populated my waking dreams.

That dream went something like this: "I'm going to write a screenplay that's going to be great. This will be picked up by a production company for a quarter of a million. Then I'll write the book to go with the screenplay. That will do just as well. And then, well, I'll have a franchise and I can quit working as hard, and we'll have enough money put by so that we'll never be poor. We can all go home, but my wife can keep the house here, and she can come back anytime she wants. This way, we both win."

It was a ridiculous dream, of course. One that put immense and unnecessary pressure on me. I worked every day at the businesses sometimes for 12 hours a day. I would then work weekends on the screenplays or books. I was nuts and everyone knew it but me. I pushed myself, pushed and pushed and pushed. When I was exhausted and wanted a break, I'd yell at myself to get back in the saddle and do more. I had become obsessed - not with success. Not even with money. I was obsessed with the fear that drove me so hard. Fear of failure. Fear of being broke. Fear of never making it back home. Fear of letting down my family yet again.

Add that stress of work to my background. Add both of those to the high expectations that I had of myself. And mix all of that with the constant fear that enveloped me like a dark glove and you'll understand that I was positioning myself for a fall too horrific for me to imagine.

Then a few years ago my mother died. Her passing almost destroyed me. I felt that I had let her down horribly. And on some levels I had. I had grown up to be her protector. Yet her protector couldn't save her from death. I flew back to Florida, to where she would be cremated and buried. I was ready to break.

But not yet. Not quite yet. Instead, I went home and buried myself in my work By late 2009 I was again experiencing hand tremors. I didn't know it then, but all I needed was one or two more incidents that would break the camel's back, and I would fall off the edge of the world.

Roots

I remember standing in the church for my daughter's wedding rehearsal, waiting for it to begin. Everyone was smiling. The pastor was smiling. The bridesmaids were smiling. My father was smiling.The rest of the guests were smiling. My daughter, of course, was smiling. But my ex-wife was not smiling. She wasn't smiling because she knew that something was horribly wrong with me.

I remember pacing. I couldn't sit or stand still. The entire world that I viewed through perturbed eyes looked somehow canted at an angle that I still have trouble describing: as if everything was off plum by 45 degrees. I felt dizzy. Nauseous. I desperately needed a cigarette. I walked outside, delaying the start of the rehearsal, keeping the rest of the guests and the poor pastor waiting.

Outside, I smoked and paced beneath blue Portuguese skies. I remember muttering to myself about the lack of proper preparation for the wedding. I was angry. I was afraid. I was becoming paranoid. I was convinced that everyone was staring at me. I remember a roaring, like a dam breaking, that echoed through my brain. But the only thing that was breaking was me. But I didn't know it. Not yet. Not for months. My hands shook. I sweated in the sun, sweat trickled down my face. Perspiration dotted my neck. It was hot, but not that hot. I finished my cigarette and went back into the church.

An hour later, or less, I experienced the breakdown. And so did everyone who happened to be within range of my emotional nuclear explosion. And in doing so I ruined my daughter's wedding and almost - but not quite - destroyed my life.

If I've learned nothing else, I've learned this: nervous breakdowns don't just happen. Rather, they are a time bomb that rests within many of us; a time bomb planted by past history; shaped perhaps by our genetic makeup; given substance by more recent stressors such as work, relationships, family, friends, and finances; gradually and secretly gaining size as life moves along, at last building toward a critical mass from which there is no reversal.

Add one more event to this ugly internal mixture, one more stressor, one more of life's many complexities- and it can be anything at all, no matter how small - and the bomb goes off. Like it did for me. The explosion that follows is profound. It not only takes out the person carrying the bomb but causes widespread collateral damage which affects those that we care most about. But it doesn't end there. Not by a long shot. Instead, the actual breakdown event is only the start of a crucifixion, and an ugly aftermath, that in my case goes on and on and on.

Many times I wish that I had had a heart attack rather than a nervous breakdown. It would have been much more simple, much easier to diagnose and treat, much less confusing, and would have hurt far fewer. But I did, and it did, and there's nothing I can do about that now.

Toward an Understanding of Personal Background

Over the years since the 'Event', I've done a bit of research. A number of articles that I read cite genetic and past environmental and biological factors as contributors to 'nervous breakdowns'. In other words, and like heart disease, your body and past learned behaviour can set you up for a fall. As it did for me. 

I should explain at this point that having suffered through this event, and because I am still in the middle of the aftermath, discovering more about myself, and what caused this, were critically important for me. I figured that if I could learn more about the causes: a) I could have a fair shot at fully recovering from this and at the same time make amends to those many people I had hurt and b) I would be better able to make sure that I never experienced anything like this again. It took me awhile to start this process. Some of the early professionals that I talked to strongly suggested that understanding why was unimportant. I begged to differ. 

So like an onion, I started to analyze myself, often with the help of a trained counselor  who agreed with me that developing personal insight would only help. And as I peeled myself back like an onion, I discovered much that horrified me but a great deal that gave me comfort too. Or at least an understanding. What I discovered made me realize that the bomb's construction had started very early on.

First, I realized that my genetic makeup strongly predisposed me toward a breakdown. My mother had suffered from a breakdown, though back then it had been diagnosed as something else. My father recently told me that his father - my paternal grandfather -  had suffered a breakdown. Genetically, it seemed that from my conception, the very fabric of my being might be conspiring against me.

Second, and perhaps more importantly, I was brought up in an environment that conflicted between the very secure and the very insecure.  My mother, God bless her, was an alcoholic. In hindsight, I'm now convinced that she self-medicated to get through her own mental issues. But those issues became my issues at a very young age. I became a caregiver. I learned to cope and survive by making sure that she was okay. As my counselor said to me only recently, "You learned that you could only be happy if those that you loved were happy first. If they were okay, you were okay." In other words, I put others first and became unaware of my own needs.  Certainly, I know that I put my needs second to those that I loved. I'm no saint. But even today I worry about other people before myself. It's not because I'm better. It's simply how I learned to cope. 

Third, as a kid I moved quite a bit due to my father's line of work. Between the ages of 9 and 15, I lived in 8 houses and attended 8 different schools, the various new homes located hundreds of miles from each other. Each move required me to find new friends and in many ways a new life. To cope, I became a people pleaser. I smiled a lot. I acted somewhat like a clown to make people laugh. I worked hard in school, knowing that if I pleased the teacher I had a better chance of being accepted. Little did anyone know - including my parents - that I was scared to death. And I was scared of almost everything: people, places, things. But I smiled and tucked my fear away. Of course I said nothing because I had learned to place others first. 

But this is what I learned to do to survive, and in many ways it worked. I'm still here. And I'm not complaining. Despite the sometimes crazy life, I had what I consider to be a wonderful childhood and adolescence. I made good friends. I excelled in many areas. I was able to matriculate to a great college then a great university for more graduate work. I was blessed with parents and a sibling that loved me to death. On the outside, and often even inside, I felt confident, lucky, and somehow special. 

But now, as I look back and remember, I also remember a profound sadness that would never quite go away. And an anxiety that was persistent. And a secret self-doubt in my own capabilities that somehow robbed many achievements and relationships of their joy.

I had not realized then that the bomb leading to a nervous breakdown had already been planted and had grown deep roots. It was only a matter of time.