Facing the demons
One of the challenges in dealing with an anxious mind is the certainty with which it draws conclusions. Falsely vindicated by predictions or assumptions that came to pass, the worst or least preferable outcome of a given situation is forecast to come true. For that, your brain tells you, is what you deserve.
Lingering on these dire prophecies can be more desirable than being caught off guard. Experiences of ill-preparedness still linger in the memory, and the prospect of a repeat is unpalatable. In an ideal world, you’d mitigate risk through withdrawal or preemption, beating the negative outcome or feeling to the punch.
Opportunities for self-preservation have been largely closed off by the pandemic. Alternate realities in which you could move, quit your job or somehow see your life change exponentially on a whim seem more distant, more far-fetched. Surrounding yourself with friends and family is now heavily caveated or closed off altogether.
Being denied these escapisms, however superficial, goes some way to explain why this period has been so confronting. There are fewer hiding places and opportunities for respite, replaced by deep uncertainties and an unclear timeline. There is an air of stasis that renders grandiose fantasies of change temporarily delusional. Preserved in aspic, our lives are on furlough, out of our own hands.
In such circumstances, we are forced to confront what is lurking beneath.
For reasons unrelated to the pandemic but no less heightened by it, my own dealings with anxiety and depression have accelerated this year. I have a decent understanding of what makes me susceptible to such difficulties and the circumstances that exacerbated what might have already been a predisposition to anxiousness. This knowledge in and of itself does not provide you with the tools to silence the ruminations. To do so requires proper attention, a rewiring of how you see yourself, and an acceptance of the problem at hand, milestones that are tasking in their nature and not always available to all.
Talk of one’s mental health can feel self-indulgent. When I have spoken about anxiety, I don’t wish it dwelled on for long. As it manifests itself, anxiety can be tough to witness, hard to comprehend and even disconcerting to those around you. If we’ve grown up with a warped sense of what masculinity entails, showing such vulnerability can be anathema to our perceptions of what a man should be.
Either by construct or design, men often seek to cultivate a sense of stability and dependency that we fear mental ill-health in all its various guises can run up against. For this reason, it’s a subject that, until now, I’ve felt uncomfortable to talk about and perhaps goes some way to explain why others struggle to open up, too.
Anxiety is not about being nervous or somehow overwhelmed by modern-day life. Instead, it is akin to being run by an internal monologue that catastrophizes the most asinine matters to the point of personal detriment. Think of it like two beings on opposing shoulders, one with your best interests at heart, while the other seeks to fill you with fear and continually do you down. At different times one can be more dominant, while the other lies dormant.
These anxiety benders come and go. There is a sense of unknowing when you emerge on the other side, perplexed at your own thought processes that led you astray. Relief comes from the calmer voice, which drowns out the irrationalities and provides reassurance. But no matter how frequently this message is drilled, it renders meaningless when the anxiousness returns. Anxiety knows no timetable and offers no bespoke service.
Society has certainly come a long way on this issue. Mental well-being is discussed at the highest level and is given more airtime in public and professional life. But in understanding the nuances of the challenges people face, the conversation is often pretty surface level.
To the uninitiated, mental ill-health and its associated symptoms are not easy to spot. There are some clues — those who pull out of social events, visual prompts such as heavily chewed fingernails and other behavioural indicators — but not all of them are discernible, particularly if you’re not aware you should be looking for them. It is always worth checking in with people you know might be struggling and even those you don’t.
For many, this past week has lifted some of the strain. There is light at the end of the tunnel. This will still be a challenging winter, with uncertainties around people’s jobs, health and future. The demons have rarely been more present for those who have overlooked or been in denial about their mental health. Some will turn to alcohol, work or other forms of self-medication to keep things at bay. Others, I hope, will reach out for help and pursue whichever activities keep them in check, in whatever shape or form is available to them.
The pandemic has accentuated pre-existing challenges: bad relationships, illnesses, or unhappiness at career choice. Usual outlets that would otherwise compensate for one aspect of your life not firing on all cylinders have been diminished or taken away. There are still sources of joy and continuity, but they are more subdued. Holidays can be followed by quarantine, sport is greeted with empty stadiums, and pub visits risk periods of self-isolation.
2020, undoubtedly, has been a confronting year. Curiously I am grateful for my own reckoning on this issue, as it has forced me to face up to the demons rather than seek to obfuscate and delay. Because no matter how remote the island in your escapist fantasy, it can never truly give you refuge from the internal battles that rage within.
