In my house in Clondalkin there is no such word as can’t. My mother instilled that ethos in all three of her children.
I grew up with a mild physical disability but I learned early on that if my twin could do something, then I could too. From an early age I had to see physiotherapists, psychologists and various specialists. So I was confident and familiar speaking up for myself. It seemed to me that the specialists wanted to empower me and I was encouraged to go to mainstream school.
I just wanted to be like all the other students. I never wanted to use my disability to get anything. At basketball when we dribbled the ball, I would just switch from my left to my right arm because I had more power in it. I got through school but when I was 17 and in fifth year, it all got too much for me and, for the first time, I experienced a deep depression.
Double whammy
When I first met the doctor at A&E, I was asked, "Are you doing drugs and are you suicidal?" Thankfully, my answer was no to both questions. I was never hospitalised. I was taken care of by my local mental health services.
I think, looking back now, that experiencing a mental health issue alongside a physical disability has taught me a lot.
In a way it’s been like a double whammy because my depression was invisible to others and I felt trapped in my mind. No matter how hard I tried, I felt I couldn’t come up for air.
When I compare the experience of being empowered in terms of my physical disability, I feel that some of the medical professionals I dealt with in mental health found it harder to hear me. But over time I found it easier to express myself and I had lots of experience of speaking up.
Is that because it’s much harder to describe feelings and our interior life? Do we sometimes search too hard to create the perfect picture that captures those intimate moments of wellness and sickness? The physical was always much easier to deal with. Sometimes when we’re down, it’s really hard to describe the sound of what’s going on. Finding that language is never easy.
I found that staying connected helped. I loved having something to focus on. Despite many slips, I kept studying and I was naturally drawn to social care and addiction studies and, this September, I am going to NUI Maynooth to do a degree in community and youth work.
Physical disability
My studies have helped me make sense of the journey and turned my life into something useful. I was never let use my physical disability to hold me back and that has inspired me to keep going, no matter what. I have learned many valuable lessons.
I have had a number of good adults in my life – people who have been there for me when the going was tough. I know my mam and dad had to have a lot of patience to bear with me. I know it was scary for them watching from the outside. It’s very easy to limit and label a person’s experience and put us in a box but nothing changes until we start having real, honest conversations. I had another good adult in my life in my local mental health service.
If I had a "Super Hero" award, my key worker there would get it. He showed me that the way I deal with my depression makes all the difference. He counselled me about having patience for myself first. And he taught me that it did not need to define the whole me. He also taught me to trust myself and respect depression. He was my Bruce Lee in my mental health journey. I loved John Forbes Nash's book, A Beautiful Mind, and the line that struck me most is: "The only thing greater than the power of the mind is the courage of the heart."
Depression has opened my heart and given me courage. I wouldn’t swap it for the world.
Declan Breen Phoenix is a member of the Youth Advisory Panel for Jigsaw Clondalkin and Headstrong, The National Centre for Youth Mental Health.
Tony Bates returns next week.