My Own Occupational Therapy

I’m not out of the woods from this current bout of depression. My new medication is only just beginning and it’s early days, though one of its side effects didn’t take long to kick in. Too much information I know, but dreadful constipation isn’t a great way to begin a new medication regimen. Now I know at first hand what it’s like to feel bloated!

My mood is steady though. I continue to experience horrifying periods of deep and seemingly unmanageable self-loathing, with accompanying thoughts of ending my life as a result of this. However, in these moments, I’m discovering I’m drawing more and more on the resilience I acquired during my kayaking journey. This is due in no small part to the fact I’ve been delivering public presentations about this journey to various audiences around Scotland.

The Opening Slide For My Presentations

These events have been well attended and despite some stage nerves each time, I enjoy myself immensely. I also enjoy the realisation folks are interested in what I have to share, how I tell my story and the messages I impart. It’s an affirming experience for me. It’s also hugely useful for me when recounting the powerful transformational learning I gained from my journey, I hear these words for myself too. This is why I’m more readily able to tap into my inner resilience when I experiencing a deep low, to keep me moving forward.

Saying this, I’ve yet to find my way back into a sustained process of writing the book about the journey. My confidence with this is at an extremely low ebb and when I do open up the files containing my writing so far, all I see is a word salad of complete and utter tosh! Despite this, I’m increasingly aware of a growing desire to get back into solidly writing again. Again, my recent public presentations have helped prove I have a good story to tell and I’m keen to get this written. I have nearly a month of house sitting for friends on the Isle of Skye coming up soon, so it’s my goal to use this time to complete the bulk of the book.

It was attending the occupational therapy sessions during my hospital admission in 2019, after my suicide attempt, which awoke my inner creativity. This lead to me making jewellery pieces and art from the fruits of my beach combing here on the Isle of Mull. Since returning from my long kayak journey, it’s taken months for me to reconnect with my inner creativeness. Thankfully, I’m back in my shed again and I’m loving it! All of a sudden I’m once more excited with the possibilities before me and learning new skills. I may not produce high class pieces, but each is created with passion. I’ve returned to my shed with a clear idea of what I want to create, what I want to learn and where I want to enhance my skills.

Available in my Online Store

This is a major step forward for me. My tenacity, an innate personal quality I only recently understood I possessed, prevented me from sinking into the doldrums of wallowing in self-pity and instead inspired me to return to my shed and “give it a go”. Once at my work bench, I quickly realised the space in my shed and the creativity it unleashes within me, is akin to kayaking on the sea. It’s rhythmic, mindful, absorbing and hugely rewarding. My uneasy mind is stilled and whatever self-hatred I’m experiencing, is diminished.

It has occurred to me, I cannot carry my self-directed anger or hate for more than mere seconds when I’m out in my kayak or making art in my shed. This is why occupational therapy worked so well for me during my many hospital admissions.

I’m on my road to recovery and it’s good to once more experience the familiar bursting buds of hope within me. I notice though, I continue to shy away from social media, believing I’m a fraudulent presence. Indeed, if there is a negative within the public presentations I have been giving, it is the strong sense I have no right to be speaking as I do about positivity. It’s nigh on impossible for me to absorb the generous feedback I receive without my internal dialogue batting it away.

I have a few more presentations coming up. One, tomorrow night in Portobello and the next one on Skye in April. I know every time I give a talk, this inner dialogue of mine will be slowly vanquished.

So folks, that is the current state of play for Nick Life Afloat. Never a dull moment!

Thank you as always for your love and warm support.

Functioning Depressionista

Yesterday I had a long awaited in person appointment with my psychiatrist, here on the Isle of Mull. I had reached out to the community mental health service not long after my return from my long adventure because I wasn’t feeling very well and I sought a medication review, believing the regimen I am on was no longer effective in managing my depression. I think because I had been out of the loop for so long, I found myself beginning at square one and it took a number of months for me to rise through the appointment list.

During the latter part of last year and since the beginning of 2024, I have been in a seemingly fruitless struggle with depression. In recent weeks, I was particularly concerned with how awful I was feeling and I made regular appointments with our doctors at the medical practice in Tobermory. They were excellent, giving me valuable time, listening to my concerns and I suspect, hastening my progress through the mental health team waiting list.

The depression I live with is a pernicious illness. The best way I can describe it to you, is how it seems like an organic upwelling of stagnant blackness. My energy is drained and motivation to combat the feelings of worthlessness and self-hatred is severely challenged. It is an exhausting process. All the positives I gained from my long sea kayak journey seem hollow and empty of truth. Such is the malicious intent of the depression I live with, I believe at the moment, there is no longer any purpose to my existence. I find myself returning again and again to the assumption I’m a fraud in kayaker’s clothing.

It is so easy to find myself affected by external events which appear to reinforce a belief of utter uselessness I have of myself. A horrible ending to the relationship I had with the prestigious literary agency in London where I found myself feeling abandoned and ignored. Being invited to send my writing to another prestigious literary agent and this too being ignored weeks afterwards. In sharing these two examples, I find I hate myself even more for sounding pathetic and weak. I tell myself to stop being so uselessly sensitive and man-up.

Over the coming weeks I will be giving presentations to various audiences about my year long journey. It’s a huge honour to be asked to do this. Yet, I again view myself as a fraud, a person who advocates outdoor connection and adventure for positive mental health, while failing to walk this path myself. This troubles me a lot.

Yet, despite the deep depressive malaise, I work hard to ensure I keep myself moving in a forward direction. In this regard I view myself as a functioning depressionista. A man who gets by with an outward countenance of normality. Despite my lack of literary ability, I continue to write for the book about my year long journey. In fact the words spill from my fingertips. I am also enjoying the creativity of making short films from the hours of video footage I took during the journey and posting these on my YouTube channel.

Sadly, my motivation to press forwards with life hasn’t extended to inviting myself out onto the sea to enjoy my kayaking. I also find I struggle to engage with social media, a medium which has also been a source of sustenance for me. Again, I view myself as no longer having purpose, with nothing of value to offer.

I have written this blog post because it helps me to do so. I feel I owe an explanation for my absence and my blog is useful for me to explain how this bout of depression is affecting me. The act of writing these paragraphs, focuses my thinking and helps me see beyond the emotional turmoil at the surface of my existence. I notice I’m reconnecting with the core truths I came to understand through my journey. These being, I have courage, I am tenacious and there is always hope.

Finally, I am safe. I experience strong suicidal ideation every day and I long for the peace from my anguish, I believe completing my suicide will bring. I have enough cognitive strength to challenge these sometimes overwhelming desires. I courageously face them head on, tenaciously holding onto the realistic hope this darkness will pass. Also, I am not alone. Karen is by my side and a loving constant presence in my life. I also have ready access to the professional support I require.

In a month or so, the warmth begins to return to our northern climes and with this, the hope the change in my medication regimen will be showing dividends. Until then though, this depression is a bugger and I’m fighting it as fiercely as I’m able. Sometimes, I feel defeated and this is really horrible.

Thank you for reading this and thank you as always, for your warmth, love and support.

The Samaritans - Scunthorpe Branch.

I was humbled to be asked to write an article for the Scunthorpe Branch of the Samaritans. They have kindly allowed me to share it here.

Please follow this link - Scunthorpe Samaritans

It was a timely article for me to write, because at the time I was experiencing a really deep low. It helped me rationalise my feelings and the dark thoughts coursing my mind, reminding me of the importance of my journey for my continued well being.

Embracing Adventure: My Lifelong Journey

Charles Lyster, Ascending Sgorr Dhonuill, Nov. 2023

Having returned from a wonderful weekend spent in a Scottish bothy and climbing in the high mountains with a dear friend from way back in my Outward Bound days, I found myself reflecting on adventure in my life. Charles and I talked at length through the weekend of the value of living adventurously, so I thought I would revisit a draft blog post I’d written a few weeks ago..

Here it is.


As I journey through life, I realise the profound importance of adventure, especially as I head towards older age. It's easy for me to trap myself within a cosy cocoon of comfort zones, clinging to familiar routines and the certainty of warmth. However, as the years pass, the significance of adventure in my life becomes increasingly apparent. In this blog post, I'll share why I’m choosing to focus on adventure as an integral ingredient of my life, adding a dash of excitement whenever possible and keeping my spirit youthfully alive.

Keeps My Mind Sharp

Adventure serves as a mental workout by constantly challenging my brain to adapt to new situations and solve problems. As I age, I notice cognitive decline is a natural process. I’m not as decisive as I once was and I’m discovering how easily I may become confused. Engaging in adventurous activities I believe, will slow my cognitive decline. Indeed, during my year long journey, I reveled in moment by moment decision making processes. Adventure reignites my innate curiosity and keeps my brain engaged, constantly seeking new experiences and acquiring knowledge. Whether I'm learning a new skill in my creative workshop, or embarking on an exciting paddling journey, these experiences stimulate my mind, enhancing my memory, creativity, and problem-solving skills. The anticipation of what's around the next corner keeps me eager to learn, readying myself for whatever is thrown my way. In essence, adventure is my lifelong commitment to my mental agility and vitality.

Fosters My Resilience

Ross Of Mull, October 2023

In my gathering later years, I face quite a few challenges. These are mostly physical, e.g. poor balance, back pain, and slow recovery from bumps and strains. Critically, it is my struggle with clinical depression which tests me the most. Adventure teaches me resilience, to face adversity head-on, and adapt to new circumstances. Each new journey challenges me in unique ways, pushing the boundaries of my comfort zone. I've learned through facing uncertainty head-on and overcoming obstacles, I foster a sense of self-assurance and inner strength. Whether it's kayaking through wild and bouncy seas, navigating unfamiliar mountainous terrain, or even aquiring a new skill, these experiences teach me to embrace change and uncertainty, rather than shy away from them. As I've conquered the unknown, I've not only developed problem-solving skills and resourcefulness, but I've also gained a greater capacity to bounce back from setbacks. Adventure teaches me setbacks are simply stepping stones to future contentment, and with each new challenge, I become more resilient and ready to face whatever life throws my way. These experiences have built emotional strength, enabling me to navigate my ups and my often swooping downs, with an increased sense of hope.

Nurtures My Sense of Purpose

Adventure provides life-meaning for me and has been a cornerstone throughout my life, a constant companion in my journey towards self-discovery and purpose. Every new experience, every new stretch of coastline I explore, nurtures my sense of purpose. It's in those moments of uncertainty, when I step outside my comfort zone, I find I truly come alive. The challenges and triumphs of adventure serve as a crucible, within which I forge my identity. Whether it's coming through a challenging paddling day, embarking on a solo trip, or simply exploring my locality, these adventures fuel my curiosity and connect me with the world in profound ways. Through adventure, I not only find purpose in the excitement of the unknown, but also in the understanding that life's true meaning lies in the journey, and simply not the destination.

Promotes My Physical Health

Adventure often requires physical activity, whether it's kayaking, mountaineering, or simply exploring new places. My legs after a weekend in the mountains with Charles have yet to forgive me for demanding so much of them! Staying active is essential for me as I age, as it helps me maintain my physical health and keeps me feeling young at heart. It also provides an opportunity to enjoy the great outdoors, which can be incredibly rejuvenating. Adventure encourages me to step out of my comfort zone, pushing my body to its limits in exciting and challenging ways. As I explore new seas and face unexpected challenges, my body adapts and grows stronger. Additionally, I understand the infusion of adrenaline associated with adventure, triggers the release of endorphins, reducing my stress and boosting my immune system.

Fuels Self-Discovery

Loch Hourn, Feb. 2023

The process of adventure has led to profound self-discovery. It's pushed me to confront my fears, uncover some hidden talents (communicating to a wider world and creativity), and importantly, continue to learn more about who I am as an individual. Thus, embarking on adventures has been an indispensable facet of my life, profound experiences which have illuminated the path to self-awareness and personal growth. Every experience woven through the tapestry of these adventures, serves as a mirror, reflecting not only my capabilities but my limitations too. This offers me the opportunity to foster a profound understanding of who I am at my core. I believe I can never be too old for this. In the melting pot of uncertainty, I've learned to adapt, confront my fears, and embrace the unknown. This assists me to develop into a more resilient, insightful version of myself. This crucial self-awareness has led to my personal growth and a deeper sense of fulfillment. The fulfilment by the way, is enhancingly satsifying.

Adds Variety To My Life

I have found as I age, routine can become an almost lethally monotonous process. However, seeking adventure introduces an element of surprise and excitement into my potentially staid life. Learning new things, continuing to develop my kayaking skills, undertaking long journeys and meeting new people, has added valuable splashes of colour into my life and broken the monotony of my everyday existence. Since returning from my year long kayaking journey, I have every intention of continuing to inject adventures into my life, with explorations into the hidden corners and coastal waters of my island habitat. As alluring as it is, I do not want to always be too comfortable, cooried the corner of my chosen sofa in our centrally heated sitting room.

Creates Lasting Memories

The memories created through adventures are treasures I carry with me throughout my life. Whether it's a breathtaking view over a Scottish Highland landscape, or the satisfaction of conquering a physical kayaking challenge, these memories provide a sense of accomplishment and contentment. These can be doubly powerful if shared with Karen or good friends. Solo adventures offer moments of introspection and self-discovery, allowing me to push boundaries and revel in the thrill of the unknown. On the other hand, shared adventures weave bonds with companions, forging connections which withstand the test of time - decades even. Each climb, every unexpected path, and every spontaneous camping or bothy night out, engrain themselves into the fabric of my existence, forming a treasury of stories I will forever carry with me. I realise the enduring importance of crafting memories through adventure — for they not only define who I am, but also serve as a timeless source of inspiration and joy.

Conclusion

In conclusion, I believe it’s imperative for me to not view adventure as being the exclusive domain of the young. In fact, it becomes even more important as I age. It enriches my life, sharpens my mind, strengthens my body, and keeps the spirit of youth alive within me. So, as I journey towards older age, I embrace adventure and all the joys it brings. Whether it's a grand exploration or a small, everyday adventure, I let it be a constant companion on my life's journey. Adventure is not just an activity; it's a way of life, a philosophy which ensures my later years are as vibrant and fulfilling as the earlier ones.

I hope this is true for you too.

Finding Inspiration to Live Adventurously

The other day I posted a video to my YouTube channel which led me into thinking about adventure in my life. You can see the film - here.

Ever since I was a child, the idea of living adventurously has been a guiding force for me. I've been fortunate to have had several sources of inspiration fuelling my passion for adventure and exploration. In this blog, I want to share with you three significant influences who shaped my adventurous spirit.

My Father: A Journey into the African Bush

My earliest memories of adventure can be traced back to my father. He was a man who had an insatiable love for the wild. When I was a young boy, he regularly took me with him on his journeys into the heart of the African bush. Those trips were nothing short of magical, as I was introduced to the raw, untamed beauty of nature. Dad instilled within me, a deep respect for the natural world and a sense of wonder for what’s possible within it. This wonderment has remained with me throughout my life.

Watching him navigate the African wilderness with confidence and awe, I learned the importance of being prepared, of respecting the environment, and of embracing the unknown with an open heart. These early adventures with my father ignited a spark within me, a yearning to explore the natural world with curiosity and eternally seek new experiences.

Working for Outward Bound: Embracing Kurt Hahn's Philosophy

As I grew into adulthood, my desire for adventure led me to a career at Outward Bound, an organisation founded in 1941, specialising in outdoor education and personal development. It was here I was introduced to the profound philosophy of Kurt Hahn, the founder of Outward Bound. Hahn believed in the transformative power of challenging outdoor experiences and the development of character through adversity.

Working with Outward Bound, I had the privilege of witnessing firsthand the incredible impact these adventures had on the lives of young people and adults. I saw individuals push their limits, overcome fears, and discover strengths they never realised they had. Kurt Hahn's philosophy emphasised not only personal growth but also the importance of contributing to society, values which resonate powerfully with me today.

Outward Bound became my second home, and it was through this organisation I met a remarkable individual who would further fuel my passion for adventure.

Charles: The Epitome of Adventure

During my time working for Outward Bound in Wales in the mid-1980s, I had the pleasure of meeting Charles Lyster, a man who epitomized the spirit of adventure. Charles is akin to a character from the pages of a British explorer's diary, with a thirst for exploration. His stories of scaling rugged mountains, sailing sometimes tempestuous seas, and embarking on daring expeditions, were nothing short of captivating to me as a novice instructor. (In those early days he was a senior instructor and I was a lowly ‘summer temp’). I was in awe of his presence.

What struck me most about Charles was his unwavering curiosity and his fearless pursuit of the unknown. I learned from him, adventure is not limited to a specific place or time; it is a state of mind, a way of approaching life with courage and enthusiasm. Through his approach, Charles encouraged me to embrace every opportunity for exploration, whether it be in the wilderness or within myself.

Certainly! Charles Lyster's inspiring programme for fathers and sons, known as "Wild Journeys," has had a profound impact on my adventurous spirit and deserves a special mention in my journey towards living adventurously.

Charles Lyster's "Wild Journeys": A Bonding Adventure

Many years after my time working for Outward Bound, I had the privilege to work alongside Charles, on the inagural course of his inspiring programme called "Wild Journeys." This program is designed to strengthen the bonds between fathers and their sons through shared adventures in the great outdoors.

"Wild Journeys" is more than simply a series of outdoor activities; it is a transformative experience encouraging fathers and sons to connect on a deeper level, fostering trust, communication, and a shared sense of purpose. Through activities such as tall ship sailing, hiking, camping, and wilderness skills, fathers and sons are invited out of their comfort zones, encouraging personal growth, and deeper understanding.

What makes "Wild Journeys" particularly remarkable is the mentorship and guidance of Charles himself. As a seasoned adventurer and explorer, Charles serves as a role model for the participants, sharing his wisdom and passion for the outdoors. He helps fathers and sons navigate the challenges of the natural world while imparting valuable life lessons along the way.

The "Wild Journeys" courses not only instill a sense of adventure but also create lasting memories, further strengthening the cores of the father-son relationships. It is a testament to the power of adventure in bringing people together and fostering meaningful connections. In my interactions with Charles and witnessing the positive impact of "Wild Journeys" on father-son pairs, I was inspired not only by the adventures themselves but also by the profound sense of purpose and bonding that they instilled.

This link will take you to his ‘Wild Journeys’ website - here. The date for the 2024 course is Sunday 4th to Saturday 10th August and places fill up fast.

Lady of Avenel

The Adventure Within

My friendship with Charles has continued to evolve, and I am thrilled to share the exciting news of a new adventure we are embarking on together in the summer of 2024. We are teaming up to deliver a week-long course for adults in the summer aboard the magnificent tall ship, the Lady of Avenel. This unique program aims to explore the profound notion of adventure in our lives and how it can benefit us in countless ways.

Our course isn't just about the thrill of sailing; it's about embracing adventure as a way of life. Adventure has the power to rekindle our inner spirit, boost self-esteem, and enhance our problem-solving skills. It reminds us of our innate resilience and resourcefulness, traits which serve us well both on and off the ship.

Further details will be posted very soon.

Conclusion

Aboard the lady of Avenel, inaugral ‘wild journeys’ course.

Incorporating Kurt Hahn’s philosophy into my own journey towards living adventurously has been a source of inspiration and a reminder of the importance of fostering meaningful relationships and personal growth through shared experiences in the great outdoors. The sources of my inspiration to live adventurously have been deeply woven into the fabric of my life. My father introduced me to the wonders of the natural world, Outward Bound and Kurt Hahn's philosophy showed me the transformative power of adventure, and my friend Charles embodied the spirit of exploration and curiosity. Together, these influences have shaped me into the adventurous spirit I am today, always seeking new horizons and embracing the unknown with open arms.

Adjusting

What a year!

I’m home again, as many of you will know, after an incredible twelve months exploring the coastline of Scotland in my sea kayak. It’s wonderful to be home too. During the last weeks of my adventure, I noticed more and more the ache I had within me to be settled again, to share Karen’s company and to experience the love and warmth of our life together. I’m pleased my expedition had a definite cut off point, a specific date when it came to a close. There was no ambiguity which invited me to eke the journey out.

When I returned to home life after my 2015 sea kayak journey around Scotland, visiting all of the RNLI lifeboat stations, I found it difficult to adjust. I slipped into a deep post-expedition depression which I never shook off. A few months later, I eventually ended up as an inpatient on Succoth Ward at the hospital in Lochgilphead. I was a psychiatric patient for four months, my first of what transpired to be a number of admissions to the ward over subsequent years.

Today, as I write this fifteen days after my triumphant return into Tobermory Bay, I find myself energised and excited. I think more so than last year, when I was about to embark on my long journey. In fact, life feels exciting again, which is odd, because I would have thought having kayaked the Scottish coast on my own, living at home wouldn’t offer the level of excitement I experienced on a daily basis in my kayak. I appreciate though, the excitement I’m experiencing now is different in its form, unlike the peak adventures I enjoyed while paddling. The quality of the excitement I’m experiencing is anticipatory rather than immediate. It’s what lies ahead for me which is feeding this heightened emotion.

What adds to the exquisite character of this feeling, is the awareness all of this is occurring because of the effort I put into undertaking my journey. The excitement I’m experiencing is not happening by accident. It’s my reward for a job well done and this is incredibly affirming for me. As a man who does not carry the pedigree of a university education and a sustained respectable career path, I finally feel on the edge of me recognising my worth. Even still though, it’s a struggle for me to fully accept this may be true.

So, what’s in store for me?

Incredibly, I’ve signed an agreement with A.M. Heath Literary Agency. To think this has happened since I landed ashore is remarkable. It was they who approached me and after a long telephone chat, we agreed to work together. The agency represent, (represented), notable authors such as; Hilary Mantel, Michael Bond, Anita Brookner, George Orwell, and Winston Graham. Importantly for me, I see adventurers such as Andy Cave and Benedict Allen on their list of authors too. Finding myself with a respectable literary agency lifts a considerable weight from me. I need not worry now about the nuts and bolts of seeking a publisher for my book. Equally, I know I’ll receive invaluable advice and support when writing. Certainly, the immediate task of producing a concise book proposal is helpful in determining the structure of my book and what exactly I will be writing.

This journey of mine was undertaken with a book as certain outcome. I don’t think there was a moment when I disregarded this when I encountered myriad powerful experiences on the sea or ashore when meeting people. I would often find myself writing paragraphs in my head and I’ve innumerable scrawled notes in the journals I carried with me. A year of adventure has elicited a cornucopian amount of anecdotes, insights and revelations. Too many for one tome, so it’ll be a huge challenge to sift through these to write about. To be honest, I’m relishing this challenge. I remember often pondering this as I paddled and every time concluding it’s an enviable position to be in. Far better I’ve a lush oasis of experiences than a desert.

It’ll be testing to view the book writing process as a long game and approach it with determination and patience. For example when speaking with Euan, now my literary agent, I intimated I aim to have a first draft of the book completed by Christmas. He gently advised me to revise this aspiration because the nature of what I speak of creating, warrants time for this to be crafted. It’s a relief to hear this advice and yet, the impetuousness within me balks at it taking so long.

Hundreds of social media followers have intimated they would like to see a photo book of some sort, displaying the best of the images I took through the year. This might be the task which appeases the eagerness within me. It’ll be a rewarding task too, pleasurably working through my photos and choosing the ones which enchant me the most. At the moment, I’m looking at the printing and publishing options available because I know a glossy, coffee table photography book, is not an inexpensive item to create.

During the latter half of my journey, I found myself pondering the legacy I hoped for on its completion. Without having to search very far, I found myself considering the possibility of establishing a charitable foundation. The beneficiaries of this entity were immediately clear to me; people in the mid to late stages of their adult life, who were seeking an adventure but unsure of how to make this happen. It was clear too, their adventure would be a catalyst for personal change and growth, just as mine was for me (and as I’ve witnessed for so many others). I’ve never established a charity before and to be honest, I’ve yet to ascertain my idea warrants charitable status. Just as my book proposal focuses me on the specifics of what I will write, writing a proposal for this idea will assist me in determining what I aspire. At the moment I know I have many people in mind to seek wisdom from and ask for their assistance. I’ve in mind creating an advisory group to begin with to help me drive this forward.

I’m particularly keen I pay forward my overall experience. What I gained from my year is immeasurable. This is in large part due to the unconditional kindnesses I received from so many warmly kind individuals. Equally, I received inexhaustible support from a global internet community, which arose around this adventurous journey. I genuinely did not expect this to occur, but that it did, will be forever imprinted with gratitude within me. Because so many people somehow identified with me and my adventurous quest, I’ve decided I’m beholden to keep this motivation alive. It follows then, the best way I see this being fulfilled is through the charitable entity I intend to create.

I do not view this as an opportunity for personal remuneration. It’s important to me once it is established, I’m able to stand back and watch it flourish.

A promise I often made when being hosted by strangers and new friends, was my return one day to provide a lecture and presentation about my journey for the benefit of their community. I intend to keep these promises and along with these, organise and deliver further lectures and presentations around Great Britain. Two challenges stand before me in realising these. Firstly, I need to master the technology to create an entertaining audio visual experience. Secondly, I need to decide when and exactly where I will deliver these lectures. Again, I find myself excited by these challenges rather than daunted by them.

Emerging from the many connections I made during my journey are the opportunities to work collaboratively with many people. Already I’ve two collaborative projects lined up already for 2024. One is with renowned musician Eliza Marshall, for a week long retreat here on Mull, where we explore the relationship between music, the arts, Nature and wildness, as a catalyst for increased self-awareness and growth. The other is with my good friend Charles Lyster aboard the tall ship, ‘The Lady of Avenel’, where for a week we voyage the west coast seas exploring the notion of adventure and how to experience this, again for growth and self-awareness. We will both draw on our combined wisdom accrued through the years of enjoying our own adventures and our roots deeply entwined with the philosophy of the Outward Bound movement.

I’ve plenty of ideas of other collaborative ventures and I’ve mooted some of these with people I was fortunate to meet and spend time with during the year.

It’s my intention to continue fully with my social media presence since it is from the social media ecosystem I drew much support and inspiration for my adventure. I do not view myself as a media influencer but I do accept my presence within that realm means a lot to many people. I want to honour this and continue the path I’ve forged as a man who openly shares his life, joys and tribulations all. In particular it’s important to me I’m a voice for raising awareness about living with clinical depression and probably of greater importance, speaking of suicide and the spectre this taboo raise for us all. I’ve found my voice and while sometimes I feel exposed and vulnerable, I gain a huge amount knowing my words hold meaning for so many.

A social media medium I intend to concentrate on more is YouTube. I believe I have much more to offer through creating films where I share my kayaking and adventurous experiences, alongside the deeper significance of these. Out of all my ideas at the moment, this is the one I hope to make a small income from.

In terms of ready income, I’m excited to return to my shed of creativity in our garden. I will begin making jewellery again and creating art which I will sell through my website. While paddling, I thought through the skills I want to acquire to further what I offer. I’m really looking forward to learning again and with youthful pleasure, creating from newly acquired knowledge.

Finally, I determined towards the end of my journey, I’m keen to seek a new pastime to fulfil my spirit of adventure. When I was sixteen, I became a glider pilot and for two years after, I volunteered at an RAF gliding school where I developed my flying skills and forever a passion for powerless flight. I’ve decided when I receive the royalties for my book, I will learn to paraglide and this will hopefully become a pastime to fire me with passion as much as sea kayaking does.

That then folks is me and my main post adventure plans and aspirations. In the bleakness of black and white on the page, they may seem intimidating when lumped together. I am fully aware of not charging at them with impetuosity, for to do so may see me crash and burn in a horrible manner. As I learned from my journey, the skill is to take each as a separate piece, see it as a daily task, and undertake each as and how I am able to. If I view every day as just that, a day, I need not overwhelm myself thinking of the enormity of what I have set out for myself. I remember very early in my journey, realising each day was simply a day of kayaking. To think of paddling thousands of miles in one package only served to heighten my anxiety.

Thank you for taking the time to read this and I look forward to sharing more as things unfold.

Painting by Dick Ray

My Friend Shane

A few days ago, I received the dreadful news my good friend Shane Kidd of the town of Chimanimani in eastern Zimbabwe had been killed in a car accident. He had died three weeks earlier while driving a notoriously tight and twisty stretch of road between Chimanimani and Mutare along the Biriwiri River. Before the shock and the enormity of the news had settled upon me, I regretfully responded, “Shane must have had died as he lived, fast and furious.” I know that stretch of road well, having myself driven at reckless speed along it, hoping to shave off minutes from the sometimes two hour drive. Shane was renowned for the fast speeds he managed to coax out of his various vehicles.

It wasn’t until that night of hearing the news, when in bed did the immensity of the grief fall upon me and swamp my thoughts. I couldn’t believe he was dead and he was no longer alive. I’d always thought of Shane as invincible. Sadly, it was twenty two years ago when I saw him last, when I visited Chimanimani. We never remained in touch and as far as I’m aware, he didn’t use social media. However, through the years, via conversations and contact with our mutual friends, I have been aware of what he was up to and how he was doing. With sleep eluding me, I found myself wondering about his last moments of life and hoping against hope he didn’t suffer. I could easily imagine how he would have faced his impending death, with his customary courageous impassiveness, uttering in his distinctive deep voice with his Zimbabwean lilt (which I was always envious of), “Oh fuck!”

Shane and I forged a strong friendship in 1990, deep the Mozambican wilderness of the Chimanimani mountains. I inveigled myself onto a prized four day ‘mountain trip’ with him and Doug Van de Ruit. In those days, crossing the border from the Zimbabwean side of the mountains to the far more extensive and wilder Mozambican side was strongly frowned upon by the authorities. This meant these trips were clandestine by nature and undertaken by invite only. Since neither of them knew me, I felt privileged to be joining them.

As it transpired the four days I shared with them in the Chimanimani wilderness fundamentally changed my life.

I was twenty seven years old then and I was working as the Chief Instructor at the small Outward Bound Centre at the foot of the Chimanimani mountains. I’d been working in the outdoors for just under ten years in the UK, Lesotho and South Africa, and because of my meteoric rise through the Outward Bound ranks, I believed I knew just about all I need to know about how to have an adventure.

I clearly remember this particular trip with Shane and Doug as if it were yesterday. I smile as I write this, recalling the horror on their faces when they saw me turn up at our meeting point with my humongous rucksack on my back, packed full of everything I thought was necessary for a safe exploration of the mountains. I was dressed for the occasion too with hefty mountaineering boots. Shane and Doug on the other hand were minimalists and the lower the weight they could get away with carrying with the better. Not only this, each sported sockless tackies (tennis shoes), the lightest footwear which afforded some protection from the terrain they could find. I remember how they humorously jibed at the amount I was carrying throughout the for days we tramped steep rocky paths, down long grassy ridges, rock hopped up deep river valleys and fought through large swathes of montane rainforest. The salient lesson I learned from the outset of this trip was the one of simplicity. Ever since this one experience, I’ve carried with me Shane and Doug’s voices when I pack for my own adventures. “Is it useful? Do you need it? How much does it weigh?”. To this day, I will never pack anything for one of my expeditions which will not usefully serve me. I refuse to pack items in the vain hope I might find a use for them.

Over the four days we explored deep into the incredibly wild and complex mountainscape of the Mozambican Chimanimanis, I realised I was quite literally having the time of my life. There were no legally obtainable surveyed maps of the area, easily the same in area as the English Lake District. Our only reference was an inaccurate hand drawn map which had been preciously handed down through the generations to when Doug took possession of it. On this paper treasure were names of locations which held the quality of the mythical about them; St George’s Cave, Two Tarns, Bald Ridge, Gossamer Falls, Mevumosi River, Martin’s Falls, Tucker’s Falls, Kurisika Cave, Eastern Lakes, Poacher’s Cave and the Valley of the Apostles. Without making a fuss about it, the three of us embarked on a true adventure. We had an idea of what we wanted to see, but no certainty about attaining any of our goals. This is when I discovered adventure is about quality, not grandeur. There was no flamboyance in how Shane and Doug viewed the experience. It was simply what it was, an exploration of the Chimanimani wilderness.

We slept under the stars or in caves (although I was carrying a huge canvas bivvy sheet which I never used). We cooked on small open fires and brewed our tea and coffee on a battered trangia stove. We were walking by 5am every morning, just before sunrise, to beat the heat. We always stopped a few hours later for breakfast of cheese and crackers, and this had to be beside a pool we could swim in. Each of the day’s route would have a purpose to it. Find a rare and endangered prehistoric Cycad, or get to the base of a previously unknown waterfall, look for a rare species of butterfly and one day on this trip, find a fabled elephant trail up from the deep Mevumosi River gorge, through the thick rainforest to the lush highlands of the Eastern Lakes. We generally succeeded and on this occasion, we were delighted to walk the trail elephants of old would have used through their migratory wanderings. It was important we arrive at our next camp for the night by midday, when we would eat a meagre lunch of biltong, then strip naked to spend the rest of the afternoon exploring a particular river system, delighting in swimming in deep tannin coloured pools and leaping off implausibly high rocks into the clear water below. Every afternoon, we became joyful adolescents again. Through Shane and Doug I embodied the importance of adding value to an endeavour through having a purpose for each day. To this day, I will never take myself off into the wilds simply to see what might happen. I’ll always have a question I’d like to resolve or a curiosity to assuage. I learned too the unmitigated joy to be experienced in the wild through unrestrained playfulness. In fact, though them I learned a true adventure is one where playful curiosity is a vital component.

Sharing time with Shane and Doug in these wild mountains I learned the value of companionship and how incredibly rich this can be when shared through adventure, time together immersed in wildness and the intimacy of sharing the simplicity of life, eating, sleeping, activity. The quality of the adventures we shared created unbreakable bonds between us and we’re forever connected because of these. I know from speaking to people who have spoken to Shane and Doug, there are stories which the have recounted where I’ve featured as a crucial protagonist. This is because we created unforgettable shared memories through the powerful intimacy our times in the mountains evoked. When I’m struggling with one of my depressive episodes, I’ll often take myself out with Shane and Doug in my mind and relive of the many happy days we shared in the mountains. I recall with uncanny clarity everything about the route for the day, some of the conversations, the experiences, the pools we swam in, the distinct dry herby aroma of the bush and the joyful sound of the many mountain streams. Since that first trip into the mountains with them, I determined there would be meaningful depth to the time I shared with companions in the outdoors. This has powerfully remained the case.

Shane was a good few years older than me and he was a soldier in the Rhodesian Light Infantry (R.L.I.) during the final years of the brutal and bitter civil war which eventually saw the emergence of Zimbabwe. Doug too was conscripted into the army but did not experience the war as Shane did. The RLI were an elite counterinsurgency fighting force where it wasn’t uncommon for units to be sent into battle three or four times a day by helicopter or low level parachute deployment. Shane was always proud of his service, particularly being one of the RLI elite. To perform in this fighting unit, he would have been a fearless and incredibly strong soldier. The civil war ended in December 1979 and as far as Shane was concerned, it ended for him too. He threw himself into becoming a Zimbabwean, without rancour or disparagement. I admired Shane for the effortless ease he related with all sectors of Zimbabwean society.

On our mountain trips, our conversations sometimes turned to those days of ‘the war’. Instead of speaking of battles fought or individual moments of fighting, the conversations centred on the unforeseen outcomes of serving in a conscript force. Namely, the friendships which were forged through adversity, the unusual experiences which highlighted the bizarreness of human life and the capacity for seeing the good even when moments looked bleak, possibly hopeless. As a young man who’d not experienced being ‘called up’ to fight, I was fascinated by these conversations. Through listening to Shane and Doug recount their experiences of war without bragging, I learned something of the power of humanity to shine through even when it was evident at times, the purpose was to kill or be killed.

Through Shane and Doug, I learned about maleness, about being a man. In their company I felt male and enjoyed this feeling. This was something we never spoke of and I certainly didn’t approach this subject with them. In our current modern age where gender and what this means for so many, is a hotly debated issue, I hold onto the embodiment of the qualities I gained from Shane and Doug of what it means to be a man. As deeply as I search within myself as I write this, I cannot think of anything toxic in the maleness these two men espoused. I think I gained from them the knowledge it is OK to be a man and fulfil this role in whatever way you see fit in the hope you do no harm. Shane was wonderfully artistic, He wrote well and he was widely read, incredibly well informed on current issues. He had a deep love for the people of Zimbabwe which eventually saw him imprisoned in horrendous conditions without trial during the 2000s. He even suffered mock executions. He believed in the inherent good of the Zimbabwe people and the potential of the nation. It’s through many conversations I had with him about these issues which helped me form my views about what nationhood means for me and this is why I think I feel so at home here in Scotland.

I have missed Shane through the years. I have missed his wicked sense of humour and brutal irreverence. I was in never in any doubt what his opinion was on matters, but equally, even if he teased me good humorously, I knew he respected me too. There are so many funny anecdotes I would like to share about Shane because he was that one person who managed to make us laugh. I’ll tell one.

During mountain trips in the rainy season, Shane would insist on drying his invariably soaking tackies by the cooking fire every might. We would watch him as he continuously shifted them around the flames, always holding them dangerously close. Being Zimbabwean made, these shoes were not strongly made and one night, much to Shane’s consternation the glue holding his tackies together melted leaving him with useless piles of plastic and leather. The next day he insisted he could walk the route barefoot and refused the smallest of offers of assistance. However, in the end we persuaded him something needed to be done because he was holding us up with is painful hobbling on the schist covered paths. Doug fashioned him a pair of flops from his karrimat which did the trick. So it was, Shane completed the rest of the mountain trip with these incongruous flops much to our great amusement.

I’m sad not to have reached out to Shane before he died to make contact with him. I will forever regret this. However, when I embark on my big kayak journey at the end of August, Shane will be very much with me, because the philosophy I live by in the wild has been largely formed through the times I spent with him and Doug.

Tricky Waters

Despite some wonderful sea kayaking in recent days and enjoying all the gloriousness wild nature has to offer, I find myself navigating tricky waters again. My mood is consistently fluctuating, where the dips are beginning to appear more frequently and are a little more deeper each time. I’m working really hard to ward off an enduring episode of depression by insisting I keep active, I do things which give me pleasure and I attempt to keep my thinking to mindful awareness and the reality this eschews. To say I am fragile at the moment is an admission of weakness which I do not like at all. I want to be seen as strong and healthy, not the whining, self-absorbed individual I view myself at the moment.

Fighting depression is determined hard work. It can be exhausting and right now, today and over recent days, I feel exhausted. Settled night time sleep for me is fractured and hard to come by at the moment. I’m very tired, but the moment I lay my head on the pillow, my mind is awash with a plethora of unwelcome, unbidden and self-depreciating thoughts, images and beliefs. When I’m worn out as I feel I am at the moment, suicidal thinking is very much an aspect of my reality.

In deciding to write this blog entry, I was thinking of my suicidal ideation and how this manifests itself in my life. Rather than rehash another description, it’s best if I point you towards a previous blog post I wrote a few years ago about this subject - here.

While the general points of that piece remain consistently applicable, the major change is the fact I have since then made a serious and almost successful attempt to complete my suicide. In short, my suicidal thinking has moved from a conceptual, albeit serious process, to one where I know in reality I have it within me to take the actual step to end my life. I now know I hold no fear of the moment of death or the manner of how I will die. I know exactly what it means to welcome the approach of death and the huge sense of release this embodies for me. With this one change since writing that entry, I understand I have to now pay particular attention to the levels of my suicidal ideation because of the seriousness of me enacting it if believe the need for me to die to be true. It makes openly voicing my thinking all the more important because this leads to the support which helps me regain a sense of balance and recover.

This is what I’m doing here by writing and posting this. I’m giving voice to the terrible thoughts which envelope my rationality at any given moment and time.

Death has been largely present in my mind for a few months and considering my death has become once more, increasingly prevalent. I wish this were not the case because the reality is, I have SO much happening in my life which is happy and good, and what is more, I have so much to look forward to as well. I feel pathetically self-indulgent in admitting this and this is the complex nub of the issue. It’s a never ending process of vacillation between the awareness of the happily real possibilities life holds for me, and the deep despair I hold about myself as a person and the tragedy of the world I inhabit.

There is no singular reason I should think of my suicide at the moment. There are many issues which are important to me and which affect me deeply. However, a couple of ‘triggers’ have reignited the current importance I’m placing on considering my suicide. The dreadful war in Ukraine continues to trigger my suicidal thinking every day. I don’t think I’m alone in feeling the tragedy of this needless war and being deeply affected by the daily images of wonton killing and destruction. What this does is lead me into overwhelming feelings of despair for the world and humanity in general. The Ukraine war is not the only vicious war being fought where cruelty is central to the brutality. There are many populations and communities around the globe who are facing inhuman degradation. And there is more. I find myself thinking of our existential battle with human consumption which is outstripping the natural resources of the planet to sustain us. All the while, collectively as a species, we are destroying the habitats and threatening life for all non-human species. The destruction occurring in Ukraine is emblematic of what is meted out to many of Nature’s inhabitants around the world, through the wanton destruction of habitats, industrial over fishing and so much more. This violence against Nature fills me with a deep sense of hopelessness and exhausts me.

Another recent trigger is the death at the weekend of our darling wee feral cat, Misty. She was hit by a car on the road behind our house. She died instantly and without suffering. I knew this before she died, and losing her has only heightened this awareness, I loved her deeply and truly cared for her very much. She came into our lives by chance and in the short couple of years she was with us, she contributed so much joy and happiness to our household. I will miss her characterful presence terribly. However, it is not her loss which is the trigger for me, it’s randomness of her death and the immediacy of it. One moment she was a carefree little cat with a lot of love and in a split second because of a speeding car, she is no longer here. Stroking her small body before burying her in the garden, I couldn’t help but feel envy that she had died so suddenly. I found myself envying her death and the eternal peace this brought. I now find myself wishing for the same and this is an alluring attraction which is difficult to shake.

All I have described above is what is occurring beneath my surface. These are my internal experiences and the outdoor rejuvenated personality I present, often belies the tumultuous thinking I struggle with. Behind the happy photos and films I share of the joy I experience of being alive in nature is a hidden turmoil. I’m determined not to allow this to overwhelm me again and this is why I write about it now. I am facing this head on and by giving voice to my experience of suicidal turmoil, I am at least being pragmatic, honest and real. It is helpfully therapeutic for me to write and share. I’m not asking for intervention in any shape or form. Instead, I write to tell the world I am fighting my fight and this is happening even if this is not evident in how I present myself.

As always, I will bring this to a close by clearly stating I am safe. I have no plans to complete my suicide and I do not think I’m in danger of acting on my ideations on a whim. I’m working hard to live well and make the most of the life I’m so fortunate to enjoy. My recovery from deep depression is an ever ongoing process.

If what I have shared here has impacted you, please seek support in the best way you know how and please take the steps to look out for yourself.

As always, thank you for reading my writing.

Kayaking Is My Therapy

It’s wonderful to definitely be in the joyful throws of springtime. The daylight hours are exponentially lengthening and there is warmth in the sunshine, albeit out of the biting northerly breeze we seem to be experiencing at the moment. With the advent of Spring comes a strong sense of renewed hope and the excitement at the prospect of the long summer months ahead.

I have been telling folks I think I have traversed the winter months relatively unscathed with regard to my depression. There was my hospital psychiatric admission at the beginning of the Autumn last year, but this was thankfully short lived and I returned home with a determination to work hard towards wellness. I think the admission was just the kick in the pants I required at that moment. Indeed, through the Winter, I seem to have flourished with plans being made for my major sea kayaking expedition later this year and a plethora of creative achievements. I was surprised not to have experienced a lengthy dip in my mood during the long dark and cold months. I’m secretly pretty proud of myself too.

Given this, why then over the last few weeks, just as the warmth and light are returning and I’ve enjoyed some wonderful kayaking adventures, have I found myself fighting to ward off the worrying signs of an impending depressive episode? That they are there is not in question. The poor sleep, the increase in the severity of intrusive thoughts, the strengthening beliefs in failure, incompetence and worthlessness, bouts of crippling anxiety and sadly, thoughts of my suicide. It’s akin to constantly battling the signs and symptoms of a bad cold. The strong hints of a cold are there but it hasn’t fully emerged to lay me low.

I know what to do. I must attend to these warning signs and work to diminish them before they take root and overwhelm my ability to self-care. It was the same for me this time last year too. Unfortunately then, the depression managed to take hold and I lost the joy of the summer months because of it. I’m determined this will not occur again.

What I’m sharing about these worrying symptoms may come as a surprise for many who know me. This is because I’m at that liminal stage of my mental health recovery when I appear to be once more happily coherent, with an outward zest for adventure and outdoor life. This is indeed true. I do feel and experience all of that and more. Yet, there is a fragility within me at the moment which distresses me and causes me to hide this away, preferring to say every time I’m asked, “I’m fine!”. It is easier and preferable to display an air of gaiety than often tell the truth about the capricious nature of my mental health. I do this not because I fear being judged but because instead, I harshly judge myself. I’m sick and tired of hearing my voice whining out my deficiency in overall robustness.

If I choose not to be honest with others about my recovery, how then will I ensure I don’t dive headlong into an unsupported period of depression? The answers to this are not readily apparent to me at the moment but I do have strategies which appear to be helping. The strongest of these is making the effort to engage with my passion for sea kayaking, to get out on the sea even for the briefest of moments. I recognise one of the main drivers for my lowering mood is loneliness. I work alone and I have no close friends to easily spend time with. Yet, when I’m out in my kayak this deep loneliness is readily replaced with the contentment of solitude, where I no longer feel the pain of aloneness, but the pleasure of connection with the richness of natural life around me.

Kayaking is excellent for bringing me into the immediacy of the present moment, where depressive thoughts of the past or the future are deflected by what I notice around me, what I’m experiencing in every moment as it occurs. This is a powerful insight for me because when I’m alone at home, working in my shed, my thoughts tend to ruminate and take me down dark paths of regret and recrimination. It’s when this begins to happen, I make sure to lift my head from my work and look out of my window to visually reconnect with the world of nature almost within arms reach. It’s helpful too to think of the myriad wonderful experiences I’ve enjoyed in the outdoors and recall them moment by moment as if I were there again. I manage to sustain myself by regularly doing this when my intrusive thinking becomes almost too much to bear.

I sometimes think I flippantly overuse the term ‘Nature Cure’ to describe the benefit of my immersion in the natural realm in my sea kayak. Nature is indeed curative for me. It is the realm where I’m at ease with myself and where my strong self-loathing is dulled. Nature does not discriminate, so I can be present within it in whatever mood I’m experiencing in that moment. It is this lack of discrimination and unquestionable open acceptance of who I am, which invariably leads me to feeling soothed, anxieties quelled and thoughts of desperation forgotten. In those long and pleasant moments out in my kayak, I return to my true self, the person I’m happy to describe as being Nick Ray.

Nature is my therapy and she is consistently present for when I need her most.

I will conclude this blog entry by stating that I’m OK. I’m still strong and I believe I’m continuing to recover from my depression. The recovery pathways may not be linear and even may be circuitous at times, but I’m heading in the right direction. I’m trusting my internal compass and despite struggling to believe it a lot of the time, I know deep down it is leading me towards sustainable wellness.

Finally, I also know I’m not truly alone. It feels like this a lot of the time when my mood is fluctuating but the reality is, I have you, and the unconditional love and support you consistently show me.

Thank you.

Optimal

This morning, as I write this, I’m feeling a strong sense of accomplishment. For fifteen consecutive days my blood pressure readings have been within the ‘normal’ range. This morning I received two ‘optimal’ readings, the first when I awoke at 6am and the second on my return from walking Ziggy at 9am. I usually take my blood pressure three times a day to note the changes through the day and after exercise.

When I was admitted to the psychiatric ward in Lochgilphead in the Autumn last year, there was some consternation regarding my blood pressure readings which were regularly recorded as part of the admission process. This was when I was alerted to the fact my blood pressure was high. It was only in the run up to Christmas I began to take my blood pressure at home on a regular basis and I was shocked to learn how high it really was. I wasn’t surprised because by then I was heavily overweight and was suffering from regular severe headaches. I was also extremely unfit, finding it difficult to walk any distance uphill without having to stop and gasp for breath.

Over the Christmas and the New festivities my blood pressure began to regularly record at the top end of the range on our sphygmomanometer, which created some concern for my wife who instructed me to make an appointment with the GP as soon as the holidays were over.

True to form I resisted her requests and instead vowed to attend to the issue myself. I think it was in this moment I realised how important it was for me to regain control of my life. For much of 2021 I had been held in the grip of a severe bout of my depression and as I began to emerge from this before Christmas, I was sensing the realistic opportunities for my mental wellness. During my depression through the latter half of the year, I had neglected my overall health and well being. I lost all interest in my passion for sea kayaking and active enjoyment in the outdoors. My diet was allowed to deteriorate into regular binges of comfort food, namely supermarket pizzas, burgers, curry take away and other such meals. It seemed too much effort to chop and prepare vegetables to enjoy more wholesome meals.

My sense of self loathing was accentuated by the speedy spreading of my girth. My clothes no longer fitted me and when I looked at my body I was filled with self-disgust. I realised too I was drinking heavily in the evenings, so much so, I was putting away a bottle of malt whisky every week. I hated myself for my descent into seemingly bottomless apathy and the total disregard for my health. To be honest, because of the suicidal ideation I was experiencing at the time, I cared little if I were to die from heart failure and I’m sure I sometimes relished the possibility of this occurring.

Then, with the advent of the New Year and the fact I was seeing the end of my bout of depression, I made only one resolution for the year ahead. To lose weight. By the seventh of January my festive bottles of whisky were finally empty and my resolve was set. The following morning I set off into the mid winter gloom and driving rain for what has become my daily hour long walk which takes in a final steep ascent back to the house. Needless to say, I found myself regularly stopping to catch my breath during that first fast walk but this only strengthened the realisation I had to regain my health.

I went cold turkey; no more coffee, no whisky or any alcohol, no snacks, no salt, no sugar and no processed meals at all. Such was my determination I actually enjoyed a perverse pleasure in denying the cravings I began to experience. I remember thinking at the time how I perversely enjoyed the agonising rigours of a long hard day at sea in my kayak, when I will have battled against the wind and tide to reach a far off destination. During such experiences a huge part of me would be crying out to give in but there was always a more determined and stronger part which drove me forwards. The same was now true in my quest to lose weight.

The first ten days of my abstinence showed great results and my weight slid off me at a rewarding rate. Then this slowed to some days with no weight loss and a few times even a gain. It would have been easy in these moments to dramatically throw my hands up and succumb to a delicious breakfast roll from the corner store here in Tobermory, or phone in a mouth watering order to our local Indian restaurant. However, again it was my experiences gained on my kayaking expeditions which helped me through these potentially low moments. Out there at sea, whenever I found myself struggling and questioning my reason for undertaking a challenge, I’ve always managed to somehow picture the end goal and the reward which would come with this. Often this would be something as simple as realising only in a few hours time I would be ashore, my camp set up and I’d be enjoying a welcome mug of tea and eating a meal. This was true for these moments now when I felt challenged with not losing weight and disheartened if I gained any. I found myself forecasting with clarity the sense of wellbeing I will feel in a couple of months time when I’m at my optimal weight again. I found no difficulty in viewing the task of losing weight as akin to one of my extended sea kayaking challenges. It was all about the daily achievements which totalled together added to the eventual success.

As a result of working at losing my weight, it’s been pleasing to see my blood pressure slowly descend and with this, the reduction in headaches and the overall physical lethargy I had accepted as normal. Now my morning walks are merely forty five minutes and I march up the steep hill to the house without breaking stride or gasping deeply. My weight continues to fall away, gradually every day. I now count in days the moment when I reach the point when I’m no longer overweight for my height and age, though I have a fair distance to go to reach the weight I eventually want to reach. This though, feels to me to be a pleasing challenge to be faced with.

If all this sounds like self-indulgent back clapping, I suppose it is. I’m not averse to admitting this, because I’ve the sense it’s been far too long since I’ve experienced such a strong feeling of positive wellbeing. As with my sea kayaking exploits, it’s the moments of sitting back and reflecting on the day’s endeavours when I allow myself to bask in the satisfaction of a challenge overcome and a goal well achieved.

This is what I’m feeling this morning.

Similarly, as with my kayaking expeditions, I realise the challenges are not over, and there are many more days ahead filled with expended effort and a sense of digging deep. But knowing I have the fortitude to face this, is what gives me hope and the realistic opportunity of becoming fully well again, and keeping well.

New Boots

This blog post is dedicated to Toby Carr who died on 10th January. He and I never met but we were online friends. His courageous, adventurous and gentle spirit inspired me, and I’ll miss his presence and all he was so generous to share.

Karen gave me a pair of boots for Christmas. I think they are imbued with magic because I’ve found myself walking in them just about every day since I received them. I’ve fallen in love with walking again. I’ve walked over ninety miles in them already! They’re made by Vivobarefoot who have an innovative and ethical approach to designing and producing a wide range of footwear. I think they are the most comfortable boots I’ve ever worn.

These boots have come to epitomise my recovery process over recent weeks. Normally at this time of year, I’m feeling blue with grim anticipation for the long pull out of winter. Instead, this year I’m feeling bubbly and buoyant which is absolutely fantastic. 2021 closed well for me and this new year holds plenty of promise. Enjoying an extended, relaxed and happy festive period with Karen certainly helped - though I think there is more at play than this. The therapy I was fortunate to receive in the Autumn and the run up to Christmas was a vital component for which I’m eternally grateful. Linked with this, the continued support I receive from my Community Psychiatric Nurse is important too.

There is within me a settled determination to overcome my depression through positive action. I’m at that point in my recovery journey, when I believe I can literally cure myself through activity and adventure. Indeed, over the last couple of weeks I’ve enjoyed active time in the outdoors just about every day. It’s almost as if my new boots are calling for me to put them on and go exploring. I’ve this sense of coherence with regard to my personal struggle with my depression. My thinking has cleared and is no longer ravaged with thoughts of low self-worth and self-disgust. The clarity I’m experiencing is like the air after it’s been freshly laundered by a heavy rain shower. The haze I’ve been experiencing has been replaced with spotless views, so sharp, they take my breath away.

With my newly acquired coherence comes the awareness, I need to be cautious - not to leap forward like a horse from its stall and rush headlong into a race against myself to be come totally well again. In my experience, this has sometimes led to a crash and a deeper depression. However, it’s difficult not to feel excited about the opportunities before me this year, and be eager to fully engage with the world. Certainly, this eagerness has motivated me well so far this year.

Recognising a need to be realistic, I set myself only one resolution at New Year. All the rest are exciting aspirations. My resolution is to lose weight. I began this year 12kgs overweight and I’ve managed to lose 2.1kgs since I set my goal. It helps me to align losing weight with my recovery process, to accept it takes time and there’ll be challenges along the way. Again, I find myself thinking of my boots and how much I enjoy walking in them, working up a sweat, puffing my way towards a rewarding summit or a hidden waterfall I’ve wanted to find. The rewards are not simply the views but a sense of achievement and the knowledge my health is being enhanced. I’ve been suffering from pretty high blood pressure too, with it peaking rather alarmingly over Christmas. It’s pleasing to see it returning to a more normal and healthy level, particularly when I return from time out in my kayak or a long walk.

My aspirations for the year ahead are more ethereal; live with purpose, be more present, enjoy more fun, find my laughter again, revel in the wonders of Nature, and many more like those. With the spectre of my depression drifting further away from me, I find myself believing anything is possible this year. I’m feeling strong. I’m feeling creative. I’m feeling adventurous. I’m feeling impish. Who knows what opportunities I’ll encounter.

I’m inspired to live life as fully as possible. Toby Carr reiterated this for me with his sad passing and through the fullness of his well-lived life. So too have the ravages of the pandemic. Life is tenuous and not to be taken for granted. It’s so incredibly powerful for me to understand this, to know this and to embody this too, because only a few months ago, I was fighting not to end my life through my suicide. Thankfully it’s now difficult for me to reconnect with those deep levels of despair, so much so, I find it hard to imagine feeling that way again.

So here’s to 2022 and all it will offer. My warmest wishes to you and as always, thank you for your continued love and support.

Christmas Eve, 2021

It’s the season to be jolly and for the first time in many years at this time of year, there’s a tangible feeling of contentment within me. Not only this, a tangible sense of hope and optimistic expectation for the next year to come.

In reflecting on my past year, 2021, I realised it would be easy to focus on the battles I faced with my clinical depression and how I resent being incapacitated by this for most of the Summer and well into the Autumn. I resent the sense I lost a lot of kayaking-time, exploration-time, adventuring-time and nature immersion-time because of my illness. I berate myself for not fighting my malaise harder, to ensure I at least managed short forays around the bay in my kayak. It’s this feeling of self-directed anger which endangers the possibility of self-compassion and reasonable perspective within me.

This is because when I come to think of it more keenly, I in fact enjoyed a wonderful year - despite being laid critically low with my depression through the summer and autumn months.

Fingal’s Cave, Isle of Staffa

2021 started out for me with powerful positivity. My foray into making jewellery again in the closing months of the previous year, had been hugely successful and I looked forward with confidence to building on this success. Quite literally, a kitchen table hobby had become an enterprise, which then became a viable source of income for me. Not only this, I once more had something positive to focus on everyday - a purpose to my life. The added bonus of course was the huge amount of pleasure I gained from my unleashed creativity - I enjoyed a wonderful sensation of freedom.

January and February saw me bring to a close the most helpful and powerfully penetrating one to one psychological therapy I had ever encountered. This course of therapeutic intervention with a gifted NHS Scotland psychologist had begun the year before. The personal work I undertook with her was at times raw, painful, challenging and always insightful. By the close of the therapy, I had shifted my self-perspective remarkably and I was excited to feel the sense of being let loose on the world again. I believed I had a lot of good to offer.

We moved home. The previous year we rented a property close to the centre of Tobermory and while it was picturesque and quaint, it never really felt like home. There simply wasn’t a sense of security. At the beginning of this year we had the opportunity to rent a property on the outskirts of the town with guaranteed security and a tenancy where we are encouraged to create a permanent home. The sense of allowing roots to grow beneath my feet has been hugely exciting for me. I’ve now lived in Tobermory longer than I have lived anywhere else in my life. This year, after moving into our new home, I enjoyed the realisation the Isle of Mull is my permanent home. How lucky am I to be able to make that statement!

With the new home came my shed. For the first time in my life, I’ve a dedicated space just for me and my creativity. It has become my sanctuary. It’s the place I go to every day to make jewellery, to create, to enjoy my creativity, to learn new skills, to experiment with these and always feel comfortable with my solitude. I am happiest when pottering away in this workspace, inspirational music playing in the background, and the knowledge I’m pretty good at what I am doing. Acknowledging this important fact is a hugely powerful step forward for me. I love knowing the pieces I create and sell are being enjoyed the world over. This is hugely satisfying and affirming.

Springtime arrived and I began to kayak more. I took myself off for long days of exploration and sometimes overnight trips. While doing this, I ventured into the world of becoming a You Tube Vlogger, filming my ventures and making short films of my kayaking escapades. Once again I allowed myself the freedom to enjoy my creativity and celebrate this with a reconnected self-confidence in publicly sharing my self, my thoughts and my views. I haven’t built a vibrant You Tube Channel yet but I gain huge satisfaction from sharing my kayaking experiences in the way I would so often like to do for real with the many people who show such an interest in my pastime.

Ardnamurchan Dolphins

As a result of these films and my good fortune in encountering wild Scottish Nature in its finery; puffins, remote islands, singing seals, Fingal’s Cave, playful dolphins, beautiful scenery, sunsets, sunrises, isolated campsites, and so much more, I came to the attention of the Scottish Press and BBC Scotland. I was honoured to be invited onto a number of BBC Radio Scotland shows to speak of my experiences immersed in Scotland’s wild natural heritage. I enjoyed a couple of incredibly sympathetic articles about the same in two of Scotland’s foremost newspapers, The National and the Sunday Post. Finally, I was honoured to have a piece about me on the BBC News Website. This fifteen minutes of being nationally noticed was good for cementing the positive sense of self I’d engendered through my earlier therapy work.

In June I met the amazing Cal Major and her talented film maker partner, James Appleton. Cal is an inspirational ocean advocate, campaigner and educator. With great foresight she has created a charity called Seaful. This year she inspirationally paddle boarded around Scotland, raising awareness of our tangible human connection to the sea and I met her when she arrived in Tobermory. It was an honour to be invited to paddle with her and James around the Point of Ardnamurchan the next day. From this powerful shared experience has grown a lovely and genuine friendship. This blossomed through the rest of the year and it was truly wonderful for Karen and I to gift our previous yacht live-aboard home, ‘Anna Maria’, to Cal for her to use as she wishes to enhance the inspirational work she is doing through her charity. It felt genuinely good to give our yacht away, knowing she will be loved and sailed with great passion.

My social media presence has been a healthy one for me this year. Twitter in particular has been the virtual realm where I’ve continued to garner meaningful friendships and receive genuinely offered, unconditional love and support from literally thousands of people. It’s incredulous to me nearly 22 000 people have chosen to follow me on this platform. I’m truly grateful for all the love and support I’ve received through Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. It’s not been my experience in any way whatsoever, these online spaces are toxic.

I’m an advocate for sound mental health in society and I’m keen to vocalise a discourse about suicide and suicide awareness. I haven’t passionately campaigned about these, but it’s been rewarding to have been acknowledged for my voice on these matters. This year I have been filmed for two yet to be aired documentaries where I speak of the value of wildness in my life and how Nature is vital for my mental health. It was an honour to be filmed for internationally renowned flautist and performer, Eliza Marshall’s incredible project, Freedom to Roam. It was a huge honour for me to be asked to contribute to this project and yet again, this was beneficial for a healthy view of my self. I am also a contributor to Cal’s documentary about her journey around Scotland this year.

This year I became an ambassador again. I am currently an Ambassador for the cancer charity, Odyssey and in the autumn I was invited to become an Ambassador for the charity Seaful. I hold these roles with a huge sense of honour and gratitude, and I’m looking forward to a fulfilling relationship with them both.

Throughout the year, I’ve been deeply grateful for the unconditional love from my wife Karen. Despite my often crabbit, depressive demeanour, she has stalwartly been by my side through my deeply dark times. As with all my experiences this year, there is awareness to be gained here and it is this - I am loved.

Likewise too, it was wonderful to spend valuable time this year with my parents, both down in Herefordshire, and up here in Tobermory. The same message is clearly apparent for me to embody - I am loved.

Late in the Autumn I embarked on further therapy with the NHS Scotland psychologist and as before, this work has been hugely helpful for me. It’s ongoing and I think because of it, I’m able to write this retrospective with the positivity I am. Despite my chronic bout of depression, including a brief hospitalisation because of it in October, I’m able to draw out all the good from my year of 2021.

Importantly, I look forward with confidence to 2022. I do so with the awareness I live with treatment resistant depression and there’ll undoubtedly be time during my future, when this malaise takes grip of me again. However, with the recent work I’ve been doing for myself and reflecting on what has been a remarkable year for me, I believe I’m more in control of my mental health destiny than I’ve ever been before.

Thank you for your interest in me, for offering me your support, for your love, for your friendship, and for your willingness to accept me for who I am. I hope you know how important your acceptance is for me, because through you, I am learning to increasingly accept myself, for who I am and who I can be.

Merry Christmas to you.

The Road To Wellness

Wellness - this has become my word of choice at the moment when I speak of my mental health. I refer to my recovery from depression as a pathway to wellness rather than use the word recovery per se. I am finding this time around after a lengthy dose of deep clinical depression, the process of recovering from it is proving extremely challenging, elusive and worryingly tenacious. However, I’m seeing the light ahead of me and for the first time in many months, I’m experiencing a lightness of being which instils a strengthening sense of hope.

My rather unexpected admission into hospital earlier in November has turned out to be just the catalyst for change I needed. When I speak of this recent experience, I refer to it as, “the kick in the pants I needed to get me straight again.” It was certainly a dire and dour few days I spent on the ward, full of angry angst at finding myself there yet again. In truth, I think I had allowed my depression to creep up to me unchallenged, in a way allowing it to swamp me with it’s awful familiarity. I sometimes think I prefer an existence within my depression as apposed to fighting to remain well, because it’s easier to be cocooned by the illness no matter how awful I feel. Fighting it simply takes too much effort and I’m exhausted by this continual battle. When the notion of a hospital admission was presented to me, there was definitely the familiar allure of acceding to my illness and allowing myself to be warmly immersed in the safe comfort of Succouth Ward. However, when I arrived on the ward, I immediately recognised my error of judgement. This was not the right place for me to be and not what I required at all. I felt desperate, very alone and deeply homesick. More than anything I missed the sense of purpose my garden shed provided me, my place of safety where I while away my hours with endless creativity. Somehow, I had misconstrued my current condition and had presented myself as being at greater risk of self-harm than I truthfully was.

I had allowed myself to be suckered by my depression into believing I was dangerously suicidal when in reality, while I may have had suicidal ideations, I was no closer to acting on these than in previous months. One very strong indicator I need to be in hospital is the overwhelming sense of safety from myself I feel on my admission. Earlier in November, this time, quite the opposite occurred. I became fraught with angst about being isolated from home, from Karen and from my beloved shed. It didn’t help with the ward working with half capacity because of COVID and there not being the usual therapeutic interventions to engage with, such as, Occupational Health, daily ward meetings and discussion groups. It was a pared back service where admission was for safety and time out.

Recognising this was not the environment I needed sparked a determination within me to take control for myself. This did not happen immediately but certainly after three days in there, I knew with confidence I was going to ask to be discharged even though I’d only been there a few days. There was a new found energy within me which mobilised me into action and swept away the passivity I had been experiencing up to this point. I certainly felt energetic again!

I returned home within a week of my admission and the sense of relief for me was almost overpowering. I hadn’t ever felt homesick before, to the point I missed even the smallest detail of home life. Mobilised as I now was, I threw myself back into my creative work in my shed with focussed contentment. I became physically active too, returning to running and from time to time, taking myself for a burl around the Bay and Calve Island in my kayak. Those few short days in hospital accentuated the sense of freedom I felt in my kayak, seeking out the wild corners of Tobermory’s littoral landscape.

Returning home I embarked on a course of twice weekly EMDR sessions with the Psychologist. This has been a demanding process for me and is still ongoing but I have noticed the benefits already. Despite working with some incredibly challenging memories, I’ve not found myself destabilised anywhere close enough to require the extra support on offer should this have occurred.

With each passing day I notice I’m further along the continuum towards wellness. I do still encounter moments of uncertainty, a shake in my confidence or an unexplained flat or low mood. However, these are not enduring and I often work past them quickly enough with projects in my shed or acknowledging the joy of making sales of what I create. I’m wise enough to know that my recovery road is fraught with challenges and will undoubtedly test me many times in the future. There are the real challenges of social isolation and deep loneliness in my life which I need to pay heed to. I miss close friendships and the opportunity for a good blether with people who know me and understand me, where I don’t have to explain myself. Online friendships are good for me but they do not fulfil that need of mine to share real adventures and create shared stories with good friends. I love living on the Isle of Mull but I am lonely here.

Loneliness aside, wellness is within reach and this is truly wonderful. The plans I’m looking forward to making for 2022 will hopefully address the issue of my solitude and anyway, the more I put myself out into the world again, the more which will come my way.

Thank you for reading this.

Plans Afoot - Rock Climbs, Lighthouses & Islands

All of a sudden it is Autumn! The evenings are noticeably drawing in, there is chill to them too and I noticed this morning in Aros Park how the trees are changing colour. Many people tell me they love this season best of all but for me, it feels like a sad one. The long, warm summer days have come to an end and the prospect of a long dark winter ahead never fills me with eager anticipation. I have lived for well over half my life in the northern hemisphere but originating from the African tropics as I do, my blood runs thin and I am not a winter person. I love the warmth and of course the sunshine too.

This sense of sadness is heightened with an awareness I’ve missed most of the summer because of a long and lingering dose of severe depression. For two months I was laid low because of my recurring illness, incapacitated by severe low mood, dark thoughts of suicide and a general debilitating energy sapping malaise. Thankfully I seem to be on my way towards wellness again, though I have to say it seems like an achingly slow road. Despite my continuing lethargy and sometimes crippling anxiety, I’m once more looking ahead, rather than negatively inwardly.

A week ago I turned 58 and this gave me cause to consider what I wanted from my year ahead. I want to be well, that goes without saying. I want to enjoy adventures and I want to strengthen my connection to the natural world I inhabit. I have a desire too to reconnect with old friends and to meet new ones too. For too long, probably the last ten years, I’ve lived a solitude existence, far away from core friendships which are so important to me. On the other hand I have forged many genuine friendships through my social media presence, many of who I have yet to meet in person. It is my hope, I will realise many of these friendships in the months and year to come.

My Quiet Place in My Shed With My Three Books of Inspiration, A Climbing Harness & My Treasured Map Of West Coast Scotland.

Here is my plan to make these aspirations happen. I treated myself to a book I used to love trawling through when I worked as an instructor with Outward Bound. It was a staple of all the Outward Bound staff rooms I had the pleasure of enjoying through the years. ‘Classic Rock’, a coffee table book, is a wonderful compilation of the finest easy-(ish) rock climbs in the British Isles. It’s a book from the late 1970s when rock climbing was beginning to become a popular and an easily accessible activity. I was introduced to traditional multi-pitch climbing in the Moelwyns in North Wales in 1984. From that first route, ‘Slick’, a wonderful 80 metre rambling route graded Very Difficult (VDiff), I became an avid climber. I was never accomplished, in that I climbed the harder grades but I did enjoy the long ‘big boot’ routes (as I termed them) found on the innumerable crags and mountains of Wales, the Lake District and Scotland. These are the routes which feature in the book I recently bought. None of these routes is harder than Very Severe (VS), most being graded VDiff. The grade Very Difficult is really a misnomer. It describes a route which is easy to follow, enjoys positive hand holds and foot holds, and generally provides an enjoyable stress free ascent of the mountain crag. There will be some moments when the pulse may run somewhat faster, but this will probably be because of a sense of exposure rather than any actual difficulty.

It is usual in traditional multi-pitch rock climbing to climb in pairs, with a good friend, where one person takes the lead and the other becomes the second. I won’t go into the ins and outs of the traditional multi-pitch rock climbing process suffice to say, if the route is rewardingly challenging, then the pair will leave the crag with a sense of accomplishment and a wonderful shared memory to return to.

Anyway, my plan is to climb as many of the Scottish routes described in ‘Classic Rock’ in the year to come (such as Cioch Direct on the Isle of Skye featured in the adjacent slide show, climbed with Mrs LifeAfloat). I might venture south to the Lake District to complete a few there, but the reality will be I’ll struggle to climb even half the twenty six featured Scottish routes which are widely spread around the Highlands and Islands. My intention is to use the excuse of pairing up for a rock route as a means of reconnecting with old friends and maybe meeting new ones too. I remember with fondness many of the fine shared moments in the mountains and on exposed circuitous routes with Outward Bound friends in my distant past.

When we moved onto our yacht in 2012, I gave away all my rock climbing gear which is something I hugely regret. This means I have to build my kit up from scratch which is no mean feat given the expense of rock climbing gear now. My jaw drops when I look at the prices of essential items! However, it does mean I will have brand new kit and not be using my previously questionable out of date gear, much of which I had owned since the mid-80s. I’m certainly going to have to up my game with my creativity and sell a lot of jewellery and art to afford kitting myself out again.

Karen recently bought me a wonderful book written by Donald S Murray about Scotland’s Lighthouses. I have often thought it would be a lovely project to visit as many of these structures in my sea kayak. I will have paddled past a large number of them in 2015 when I circumnavigated Scotland and the Islands. However, there are many I have yet to see and there are those I have seen but would like to visit ashore. I think it’s because of my ease with solitude and wildness which makes the thought of being a light house keeper a romantically appealing one for me. I love the thought of living a simple but structured existence somewhere on the remote and wild Scottish coastline, or island or indeed, a rocky skerry. It is the lighthouses constructed on the latter which prove the most challenging for me to reach and land on, such as Skerryvore Lighthouse perched on a jagged rocky reef, washed by heavy Atlantic swells, sixteen kilometres south west of the Isle of Tiree.

Corsewall Point Lighthouse, Galloway

Again it would be lovely to share these kayaking lighthouse visitations with friends, sharing delight in exploring the intricacies of the Scottish coastline and camping overnight in remote and hard to reach wild locations.

This is certainly not a project I would hope to complete in my 58th year. It’s very much a long term one and probably will not be fully realised before I’m to old to paddle safely far offshore. Another long term project is visiting as many of the 900+ Scottish the islands before it’s time to hang up my kayaking paddles for good. Many of these islands are eloquently described in Haswell-Smith’s beautifully illustrated, hugely informative and well researched coffee table book, ‘The Scottish Islands’. As it is for for many mountaineers and walkers, ticking off the list of Munros, the 282 mountain peaks above 914 metres in height in Scotland, there is a compelling desire within me to visit as many of the Scottish islands as possible by kayak. If I trawled through my memories, I’m certain I’ll create a pretty long retroactive list of islands I have already landed on. I intend too, to resurrect my idea of sleeping on a different island off the Isle of Mull every month in my bivvy bag (under the stars) and this is certainly a project which will keep me entertained for the next twelve months. In resurrecting this plan, I’ll make more of an effort to raise the profile of Odyssey, the cancer charity I’m very proud to be an ambassador for.

What I have outlined above may seem overly ambitious, especially for a increasingly overweight man no longer enjoying the nimble fitness of his youth. Indeed, I am mindful of being cautious and not setting myself aspirations which will be too challenging to attain. There is the danger too of shooting out of the trap like a greyhound after a hare and ending up brought up short and winded, because I’m simply too eager to be well again. This is a familiar experience for me and the consequences for not managing this carefully can be dangerous because I might find myself tumbling backwards into another deep depression, experiencing a sense of failure and inadequacy. There is a fine line between being ambitious and over ambitious. I think I have tended to relate to the latter and generally I have got away with my chutzpah. I think for me, what I enjoy most in planning these adventures is the creation of them in my mind and wondering about their possibility and potential. I often say to folks that the advent of Google Earth has been a dangerous tool for me - it’s all to easy for me to draw a line from one place to another and say to myself, I can kayak that. I simply love reading maps, noticing intriguing spots in the landscape, checking these out on Google Earth, and then dreaming of visiting them. There is sometimes a sense of rising panic within me when I realise I probably do not have enough lifetime left to visit all the places I want to in Scotland!

I need these adventurous aspirations to work towards for the motivation they provide. It’s not enough to tell myself I will simply get out into the wilds whenever I feel like it, because now I’m living comfortably ashore again, I’ve somewhat lost the incentive to get outdoors because I feel separated from the natural realm. Now I have a warm and cosy shed to work in, it’s all too easy for me to hunker down in there day after day, losing sight of my adventurous roots and the earthy anti-depressant qualities of Nature.

It’s all too easy for me to be tough on myself with high expectations and a strong drive to achieve. However, by setting out these aspirations for my 58th year, I’m hopeful I’ll inspire myself to become active again and to make a meaningful connection to the world I live in.

My story continues.

Emerging Into The Light

Finally! I have some happy news to share in a blog post. A few days ago, seemingly out of the blue, I felt a sudden shift in my mood, where almost bodily and sensationally, I experienced a feeling of self-goodwill and positivity. I hadn’t experienced either of these, even in the slightest way, throughout this lengthy depressive episode. As with understanding the triggers for my depression, it’s useful to understand the triggers for a recovery process out of it too. To be honest, I can’t be sure if I can pinpoint specific moments or events which sparked a positive change in my self-perception, but I’m aware of various influencing factors. Before I outline the most notable of these, I want to describe what it feels like for me, right now at the point I’m aware I’ve successfully turned the corner with this particularly bad episode of depression.

I feel punch drunk, or maybe more descriptively, heavily hungover (without the boaking). I’m exhausted but relieved to have come through unscathed. I’m relieved too I did not end up in hospital this time, despite almost continually feeling overwhelmingly suicidal. There is a sense of embarrassment where, like after a riotous drunken party, I remember I was the only one who streaked naked down the high street (I apologise if this’s now an image you cannot shake). When I read back through my earlier blog posts and look at some of my social media contributions, I have this feeling of vulnerability, like I have shared too much - too openly. I don’t feel any shame and it’s important for me to state that, but there is embarrassment. I don’t like the suspicion I have which is; I was only sharing my recent experiences to garner sympathy and possibly more darkly, to gain notoriety. It’s important for me to believe I was sharing so openly as a means of accessing the first rungs of the ladder for my own recovery by outlining to myself more than anyone else, what was happening for me. It’s also important for me when as a spin off to this, I hear what I have written has been helpful to others, either struggling with depression too, or finding some understanding of what may be occurring for a loved one or friend. Knowing from the comments and messages I have received from so many people, what I have shared has been important and informative, is hugely rewarding for me and this leads me to my first important depression beating influencing factor .

Despite many times and for many days sometimes constantly feeling bereft of any hope, there was within me the desire to fight my way through and survive. There were many times when I denied this reality to myself and to others, but it is there within me, and by writing and sharing as I did, I was somehow reminding myself my depression is sadly a permanent part of me and I must have a respectful relationship with it. Not experience it as definitive outside factor where I believe I’m forced towards the inevitability of choosing to end my life. The dreadful beliefs I experience in the midst of my depressive distress; I’m a worthless person, a hateful individual, a fraud, a terrible husband, a useless son, a feckless father, a horrible friend, and so much more, are not the reality. It’s my illness which is leading me to think and believe all of the above. Sharing as I did and will continue to do, challenged the destructive depressive myth I do not deserve to live, or too, I’m exhausted with fighting the illness, fighting the annihilating thinking and simply fighting incapacitating bouts of anxiety and I want out. As I write this (see, it does help me to share), I recognise a growing sense of self-pride - I have successfully reached the other side and I have managed this without serious harm.

All of these positive influencing factors merge with each other and do not stand alone. Despite recognising my enduring sense of self-preservation, I could not have made it through totally on my own. I owe a huge amount of recognition and appreciation to the unconditional love I receive from Karen, my wife. She is a tower of strength in my life and she burdens herself with me for many long periods when I need support the most. Never judgemental, or openly frustrated and angry, or unhelpfully rescuing, she allows me to find my own path through the morass of the depressive episode, always there to offer me guidance when I ask for it and never unsolicited. Her simple acts of love expressed through warm words of affection and all embracing hugs and kisses are particularly powerful for me. There is simplicity in our animal humanness where warm touch and words of devotion carry so much potency.

The same is true for the incredible professional support I received over the last eight weeks. It is the individual humanity of the various NHS Scotland professionals I interacted with which offered me the greatest assistance when I required it most. I always felt heard and understood and what is hugely important, I realised I was responsible for my own recovery. It was not up to any of them to perform this task for me. Knowing that at the point of crisis, I had the relatively easy ability to turn for their support, enabled me to totally trust my local Community Mental Health Service. Quite simply, if at any time I felt overwhelmed with keeping myself safe (not completing my suicide), all I had to do was present myself (by phone or personally) at our local hospital or GP surgery and steps would be taken to intervene in my crisis. I can’t overstate how important this was for me. Even in those moments when I was sure I was ready to leave the house and enact my carefully devised plan for my death, I held onto the safety net which had been so effectively place within my reach by my CPN. I have a crisis plan which is typed up and I have pinned on my notice board in my creative shed. This has been an incredibly simple but powerful preventer and served many times to slow my thinking down and aid me in making a rational choice.

It goes without saying, allied to the humanity I experienced professionally, I experienced this socially too. I know how so many people; family, friends, friends I have yet to meet and strangers were rooting for me. There is incredible power in our humanness and our (your) capacity for unconditional expressions of love, kindness and support. In those darkest moments when I struggled to access any healthy rationality, I felt held by the wide and diverse community which has built up around me and my persona as ‘LifeAfloat’. Many times thinking of this community (you), helped me ground myself in the reality I am regarded and liked.

I have a good friend who has recently embarked on her personal journey with cancer and like me with my depression, she is choosing to be open about this with the wider world. Her contributions have been powerfully inspirational for me, particularly when she eloquently writes about the importance and pleasure she finds in living her life to the fullest each and every day. Reading her words whenever she shared them, served as a challenge to me - how could I be considering to end my life when she was ardently striving to survive hers in the fullest way she could? As I worked away at my jewellery making, I found myself pondering this a lot.

This leads me on to how remaining steadfast with my creativity was also an important factor in keeping me out of hospital or worse. I had a sense of purpose every day and more than this, I had a sense of accomplishment too. Whenever I’ve been in hospital because of my depression, it has been Occupational Health which so often unlocked within me, my capacity for self-recovery. By allowing my inner creativity to flourish and not be denuded in any way by my depression or depressive thinking, I have managed to hold onto my day to day existence and lose myself without self-rancour in creative reverie. My shed, my dedicated creative space, became a haven of protective solace for me, and in the depths of my anguish, I often found myself aching to lose myself within it. Where before in previous severe depressive episodes, I dreaded the coming day, I now found myself looking forward to unbolting the wooden door and stepping inside what has become a familiar and safe space for me. This is not to say that there were not many times where I lacked creative inspiration or even found pleasure in what I was doing or indeed ruminated on self-critical thoughts. Despite those negative experiences, allowing myself to be creative was akin to a powerful anti-depressant medication. It was slow to take hold, but certainly worked wonders over time.

This leads me onto medication. I’m not certain about this because despite the regime I am on, I found myself in another depression. Needless to say, I kept with what I had been prescribed and benefitted from an extra prescription of Diazepam to help me cope with crippling anxiety.

A new friend of mine and her partner have just completed a paddle board and kayaking expedition respectively around the mainland coastline of Scotland. I was fortunate to meet them early in their adventure and even more lucky to spend a day on the sea with them as they rounded Ardnamurchan. Remaining in touch with her progress and her openness (there it is again - that willingness to share) about her moments of joy as well as her moments of challenge, helped me reconnect with my innate desire for adventure and an understanding of what she was facing. I was reminded of how important my immersion in wild oceanic nature is for me, and how natural physical challenges can lead to many powerful insights and new awareness. The fact that she persisted with her challenge was an inspiration for me to persist with mine.

I think all these I’ve listed above, are the main influencing factors which led to a transformative change in direction in this current bout of depression. There are others which are too personal for even me to share and some which really don’t require writing about.

Finally, I want to acknowledge a residual sadness within me, despite the positive news I’ve been sharing and it is this - I’m sad at having ‘lost’ precious weeks of the wonderful summer we’ve been experiencing. Despite knowing how important nature immersion is for me, my illness overwhelmed my motivation to get out in my kayak or even take the dog for a walk. To be blunt too, I’m not certain I felt safe enough to take myself out to sea on my own. However, there is much of the summer left and I have some wonderful plans in my head with what I can do.

Thank you again for reading my writing and giving me your time. I truly appreciate the consideration shown for me and what I’m choosing to share. As ever too, thank you for the unconditional support I receive daily from so many of you, most of whom I’m yet to meet and sadly, may never enjoy that opportunity.

It is wonderful to emerge into the light again and to once more engage with the world.

An Update on the Previous Update

How I would love to write life has made a turn for the better and I can feel this depression beginning to ease. Sadly this is not the case and I am firmly in the grip of this tawdry malaise. However, I shall begin this blog entry with the positives because these are far more important than the negatives.

I am being incredibly cared for by my local Community Mental Health Team (CMHT), especially my Community Psychiatric Nurse (CPN). In the past when I have reached the depths of depressive despair as I have, I have ended up in hospital. This time round I have requested not to be admitted and to remain at home. I have been heard and acknowledged which is incredibly important for me. Going back into hospital, while being a place of complete safety for me, would this time feel to me to be an utter failure on my part and most certainly be a catalyst in me acting irrationally to prevent admission. I’m determined to fight this depression on my terms and while this may be risky, I do feel empowered to make meaningfully healthy choices. For example, I decided on two occasions not to meet with good friends who were visiting the Isle of Mull and who I hadn’t seen for ages because I simply wasn’t well enough. Being the good friends they are, they understood. Despite inevitably feeling shitty for ‘letting them down’, I realised I had made healthy choices.

The form the wonderful support I’m receiving from the CMHT and my CPN is regular telephone and Zoom contact, checking in with me and being a non-judgemental ear for my depressive unloading. I am fortunate to have a really good relationship with my CPN and I trust her implicitly, so much so, I speak candidly about my strong suicidal ideations and the plan I have in place to see them through. Simply put, being able to do this is for me, one of the reasons why I ultimately choose not to follow my plan through. By speaking of my darkest and most dreadful desires with her, I find myself lancing this infected wound so to speak and releasing the building pressure. Nevertheless, she is concerned for my safety and arranged further contact from the health services while she was off duty, this being in the form of a phone call from our local GP and over the last weekend, phone calls from the Out of Hours mental Health Team. Knowing I was receiving this support and had these calls lined up helped me make an easy decision not to act on my suicidal ideation. In a way, I felt honour bound to meet the agreement that I would be available to speak with them. Additionally I deeply appreciated this level of professional care and did not want to reject it by acting out. Throughout my mental health journey I have strongly believed in meeting my care full on, and while maybe not always being totally compliant, certainly being respectful of and grateful for the care being offered.

It has been my experience that our NHS professionals have our interests at heart and work their utmost to ensure this is upheld, despite the many constraints they face.

So, I’m grateful for the professional mental health care I am receiving. Hand in hand with this of course is the unconditional love and support I receive hourly and every day from Karen, my wife. She understands me and she knows how to live with me when I am depressed like this. I appreciate how difficult I can be at times, but increasingly, the sense I am a burden on her is diminishing. Of course there are many times when I feel utterly miserable about being poorly motivated and listless when it comes to enjoying shared time in the outdoors be this going for walks and possibly camping nights away. However, having Karen’s unconditional, no strings attached, support helps me live openly with my depression rather than bury it and hide it away. As with my CPN, I am able to speak with Karen about my suicidal ideations without fear of being judged or ‘shut down’. Simply being able to state where I am with this thinking, by expressing it out loud, is enough for me to make a decision not to act on my desires or the plan I have in place. I cannot stress enough how important Karen’s love and understanding is for me.

Then there is the unconditional support I receive from my wide Social Media diaspora in the form of private messages letting me know I’m in their thoughts, to more public utterances of concern and good wishes for my welfare. Despite having not been active on my main Social Media outlets, I do not feel forgotten and therefore the pressure to contribute. It is good for me to know that people understand I’m taking care of myself and I will return to my online visibility when I am stronger.

My shed has possibly been one of my greatest saviours. In here, with the accoutrements of creativity around my, I lose myself in hours of absorbing making and creating. Just as I found Occupational Health activity incredibly helpful for me in hospital, I find my shed has become my place of safety. It is a pace of purpose and intent and this is vital for me right now. It is in my shed where I make wearable art to sell and subsequently receive hugely important recognition for my creativity. During this period of my depression I have been reluctant to market myself but despite this I still make sales and this is helpfully rewarding for me. I feel I have purpose and I’m contributing.

Finally, I dug a pond in our garden and it is already filled with water, planted with plants and artistically fringed with rocks. The birds like to drink from it and it’s already an oasis of calm for me to sit beside.

Having written about the positives, I now find I’m unable to write about the negatives. I’ll rephrase this - I do not want to write about the negatives, suffice to say I am so very tired, exhausted in fact, fighting with what seems all my might to remain in this world. I long so much for the peace I experienced when I was in the sea after leaping from the ferry in 2019. Expending my energy on fighting my depressing seems to me to be such a sad waste because I have none left to enjoy what I want to enjoy, this being my kayaking, wilderness immersion and all the joys the summer months have to offer. Having just written this, I realise the possibility of reversing this energy flow from sustaining my depression to sustaining my recovery from it. If only this were so easy. I can see the possibility for this but right now, it’s frustratingly beyond my grasp.

Writing like this is hugely helpful for me and I’m grateful to those of you who read my ramblings. As I type these words now, I sense a positive shift within me and recognise the glimmers of change ahead. I know this tide of depression will turn and I will once more be moving ahead with the flow of life. My head tells me this truth constantly but my depression is a wily opponent and manages to sow the seeds of doubt and manipulates my frailty with so very powerful beliefs of my inadequacy and a strong sense of self-loathing. I’m longing for the strength to begin to turn these beliefs around. Until then, I trust in all the positives I have outlined here in this blog entry and hold close to me heart the words Karen so often tells me - “I think you’re amazing for your strength”

Thank you to all of you from the bottom of my heart,

State of Play - An Update

First of all, I begin this entry with a heartfelt apology. To the hundreds of you who responded to my Facebook post and my Twitter post with your generously warm words of good will and love, either as comments or private messages, I’m truly sorry for not replying to you. There have been many times when I have got out of bed with the intention that that would be the day I get on top of my ‘admin’, so to speak. You will no doubt notice I have yet to fulfil these simple goals. I deeply appreciate you taking the time to write to me and post on my Twitter feed, asking for my welfare and wishing me better health. Thank you.

The truth is, I’m still within the unremitting grip of this bout of depression, so much so, that reading kind words directed to me and about me are palpably difficult for me to do. I simply can’t accept that I’m worthy of such consideration and indeed general kindness. Such is the low esteem I hold for myself as an individual, that sometimes I avoid my social media accounts, as I similarly used to avoid opening the mail when my finances were at one time in dire straits. However, the difference now of course, is that the ‘mail’ I now receive is one hundred times more positive than the threatening demands of many years ago. I am grateful and appreciative, yet find it challenging to read your caring words of support.

I would love to write how I now see glimmers of hope and I feel I’m beginning to recover from this depression. Sadly, this is not the case. My self-loathing is as strong as when I last wrote and the consequences of this are still strong thoughts and desires to complete my suicide. In fact, there have been a few days when it has taken noticeable physical effort along with cognitive restraint on my part to prevent myself walking out of the house and not returning. In these moments I am worryingly at my calmest within myself, with a sense of acceptance that the time is close for me to make my final move. Very much like I was before boarding the ferry I chose to jump from in 2019. Yet, despite the powerful urge within me to complete my suicide, I manage to prevent myself from acceding to this.

It is a mark of the incredibly effective support I receive from my NHS Community Mental Health Team (CMHT), in particular my Community Psychiatric Nurse (CPN), that I find it within myself to remain with the ‘safe plan’ I was a part of devising before I left hospital in 2019. A copy of this is pinned to the wall in my studio shed and it provides an effective reference point for me when my thoughts and desires for suicide are most potent. Reading through the various steps I can choose to follow to keep me from harming myself, certainly gives me cause to stop and think things through. I effectively ground myself and bring myself to the present when I reference this, by now rather, scrappy printed piece of paper. The important thing to share here is the fact I am never alone even if I feel swamped with loneliness. It’s not a loneliness of companionship, it’s really a loneliness of internal anguish. The CMHT and my CPN know me well and respond in a robust yet caring way with me. I always feel heard and understood by them, even if at times I find myself exasperated by their attempts to bring me to the immediacy of the present moment and encourage me to find the energy to connect with the the things I know give me pleasure in my life. When I am as depressed as I am at the moment, I find myself often responding -“You make it sound so easy!” - which I immediately regret because there is one thing I hate, and that is me sounding like a victim. By this I mean, I present myself in a ‘poor me’ kind of way, in my language and my behaviour. When I recognise that this is occurring for me, it is another strong factor which builds a case for me to complete my suicide. I cannot bear the reality of presenting myself in such a helpless victim role which only serves to invite those close to me in my life, to find themselves adopting a rescuing role, attempting to alleviate my anguish in what ever way then can do or say, and then find themselves feeling inadequate as well when I reject their support with very often these simple words - “Yes but”.

I’m grateful for my wife Karen identifying this unhelpful sequence and she is wonderful at supporting me with robust kindness. She leaves me be most of the time and will not attempt to fill the gaps with suggestions for change or activity. Instead, she manages to live alongside me with unconstrained positivity for all she encounters and there is no implicit invitation for me to match this. The result is a lessening of guilt on my part that I’m a negative burden for her and steadily, step by step, I find myself reengaging more in our regular daily activities. Karen never tries to ‘mend me’, instead she lives alongside me offering me unconditional love and affection. Neither does she collude with my depression, cocooning me and wrapping me in cotton wool. She trusts that I know what I want and I will speak to her when I want to and I need to. There may be times when I notice her concern and it is easy for me to be honest with her about the level of distress I am experiencing and if there is extra support I require.

This illness, in the way I experience it, is pernicious. It grips me in my entirety - diminishing my physical energy, diminishing any sense of desire to find and experience pleasure, blocking any sense of hope, muting my positive thought processes and amplifying my self-criticism. It effectively diminishes the Nick Ray I like to be - imbued with a love for life, wildness and adventure. When I’m in the midst of a deep depression as I am now, one of my great struggles is believing that it is actually depression as a mental illness which is affecting me and not any defect in my personality. I find this agonisingly confusing and frustrating much of the time. At one level, I know that this is an illness and it is the illness which causes me to see myself as the bad and lazy person I believe myself to be. Yet, despite knowing this, it is frustratingly difficult for me to believe this or at least embody it. I recall with clarity how I refer to my sea kayaking experiences as metaphors for understanding this illness when it afflicts me. Essentially the knowledge (and wisdom) that the discomfort will ease and pass, just as a strong head wind will do, or a strong opposing tide or a long open water crossing. I have said many times that if I’m able to sit with the discomfort, over a period of time this discomfort will pass and I’ll once more enjoy easier seas ahead. This is where I find myself becoming angrily frustrated - why then, if I know this, do I still find myself desiring a completion of my suicide? The answer I give most to this is the fact I am exhausted. I’m exhausted by fighting to get well again, fighting my depression and bluntly, at time fighting not to walk out of the house with the plan of never returning. I find myself longing for the peace from all of this. I remember with clarity those twenty odd minutes or so of complete peaceful acceptance of my death when I was floating in the turbulent waters off the tip of Lismore after I had jumped from the ferry. When I’m angrily tussling with my highly negative internal dialogue, I’m often assuaged by a warm rush of my memory of being in the sea, not fearful and slowly drifting off into tormentless oblivion.

Essentially all I have described is my current state of play so far. Yet it is not the complete story of course. There have been notable moments of positivity which have helped me hugely. The first is my jewellery making. In effect, this is like occupational therapy when I was in hospital. I’m engaged by being creative and if I’m honest, I find enjoyment in this. I’m now working with silver clay which is malleable and when fired in my kiln, creates fine silver pieces. I’ve enjoyed experimenting and teaching myself the new skills required to work with this. Generally though, I have a sense of purpose to my days, and while I may not have the inclination or energy to enjoy kayaking, I do look forward to entering my shed and making stuff. In fact, it took all of yesterday from eight in the morning to eight at night to restock my online shop with all I had recently created. I often smile to myself when I wonder what the OT team on Succoth Ward would say if they saw me beavering away in my shed.

Then there are the odd forays Karen and I make together out into the wonderful landscapes we enjoy here on the Isle of Mull. A picturesque walk is never far away and of course, Ziggy our dog is the perfect excuse we need to take ourselves off for a walk. I have to admit that recently I’ve allowed lethargy to dominate but I am beginning to make more of an effort to walk more. We also camped out under the stars a couple of weeks ago to celebrate the longest day. That was a fun experience and beautiful too.

I am digging a pond for our garden. I love wildlife ponds and this is giving me something to look forward to even if it’s taking me an age to complete it. My energy levels are generally low, so I find myself struggling with the incredibly rocky ground. I’ve decided to keep at it an hour at a time. Additionally we have discovered our front lawn is a blaze of colour with Machair like flowers which is wonderful. This gives me great pleasure when I look at it, especially with the orchids we have in proliferation.

I think a while back I said writing helps me find a way out of my depression. I notice at this moment in time, as I bring this entry to a close, I feeling less agitated and more settled as a result of airing my thoughts in the written word. I certainly notice how my thought processes are linking together more positive thoughts than self-critical ones.

I am not going to give up. As strong as my desires are for eternal peace, there remains within me a stubborn resistance to giving in. I will continue to accept all the help I am professionally offered and I hope in time, I’ll reengage with my supportive social media communities. I know if I allow myself to begin to feel the warmth, I will benefit from the words of encouragement I receive every day.

Thank you.

State of Play

I’m staring down the rabbit hole of my depression and I’m scared shitless. I don’t mind admitting this. I have been in touch with my Community Mental Health Nurse and I have in place the support I need to keep me safe. Within an hour of me texting her this week, she phoned me back and we have been in regular contact since. I cannot express anymore than I have before, how much I appreciate the professional support I receive from our NHS mental health team. However, no matter how caring the folks are, at the end of the day. my keeping well is down to me. This rabbit hole is a familiar one and this time it’s a particularly dark one. I have an urge to express myself and write about what I’m experiencing. I have a sense this may help me work my way back to the bright, colourful sunlight of the summer. Thank you for taking the time to read this and to hear me out.

The warning signs were there a few weeks back. I noticed changes in my thinking and how I perceived myself and how generally my mood was slowly beginning to diminish - I was losing my spark. The contentment I had been enjoying in my life was being eroded to be replaced with increasing thoughts of self-criticism and self-dislike. “It’s a blip” I told myself. “I can expect my mood to dip from time to time.” So I decided to sit things out and wait for the beginnings of this deepening gloom to shift. After all it was early summer, the months of May and June which are my absolute favourite months of any year. It is when the fecundity of Nature and life, which abounds during these weeks inspires in me a sense of joy. Indeed, there was a long period when all my stars were in alignment. I was engaging in what I love most in life, immersing myself in wild nature and in turn I was rewarded with some truly incredible experiences which reinforced my hard won conviction that life was worth being around for - to be lived at its fullest! There was entering Fingal’s Cave in my kayak on a perfectly calm day. Sitting alone with the early summer Puffin arrivals on the island of Lunga, enjoying my human solitude and my companionship with the wild life around me. Then there were the three days of exploring the Small Isles in my kayak when I was privileged to encounter a friendly and exuberant pod of dolphins just below Ardnamurchan Lighthouse, the film footage of which went viral and propelled me into a short period of recognition from around the world. It seemed then that I was reaping the rewards of steadily speaking of my connection to Nature and how this helps my mental health. I met the dolphins again about a month later and again their obvious enjoyment in swimming alongside me in my kayak captivated nearly 200 000 people on Twitter.

In these early weeks of the summer months my life was as joyful and unencumbered with depressive thinking and feeling as I ever remember it being. I truly believed recovery from my depression was within my grasp.

Now, in the space of a few weeks this bonhomie I had been enjoying with myself has evaporated to be replaced with a self-loathing so fierce, it has taken even me aback. To explain this self-loathing a little. It’s literally looking in the bathroom mirror and hating my reflected image. Not how I look (though I do see myself as a complete shaggy disaster), but the face of a man who I dislike immensely. I’m a person who rarely takes against people, in general preferring to see the good in most, but in those rare moments when I do, my dislike is fierce and uncompromising. Right now, I am the person I most hate in the world.

No matter what positive messages I receive from those who love me and who are my friends, I only hear what I believe is unsaid - criticism of who I truly am. The man in the mirror who I hate is a fraud and this man is me. I talk of Nature being healing and yet I do not allow this to be true for myself. I’m good at talking the talk and because of this I hate the sound of my own voice. So much so I choose to speak as little as possible to prevent me hearing the words uttered from my mouth. Most of all though, I hate who I am and who I have been. I look back and see a swathe of errors of judgement, mistakes, wrongs committed on others, hurt, pain, slights, deceptive inauthenticity and general misdeeds. A recent visit to my family down in England served to reinforce many of these thoughts and beliefs, after all, I consider myself to be a total embarrassment to my family who deserved (and continue to deserve) so much more from me.

I think by now I am making my point. I dislike myself intensely.

The odd thing with all this is that there is in within me the knowledge that all the self-hatred I’m experiencing right now is untrue. It is my depression which is causing me to think like this and as I so often tell myself, this period of intense discomfort will pass. I will come through to the light again and begin to realise the good within me and my capacity to positively touch the lives of those around me. Somehow though there is a corruption of my positive synapsis’ and instead any thoughts of hope are diverted and quashed. This is where I wish I could describe this in greater clarity. There is within me a battle for supremacy, my depression over my authentic healthy self. It is not that I see myself as a ‘poor victim’ and need saving by anyone who wants to save me. Far from it, I seek the support I need and accept this is an internal battle I must fight myself. However, this can be exhausting - literally so. It takes considerable effort to remain coherent to the world around me while at the same time internally fighting feelings of alarm, fear, self-hatred and desperation. Quite literally, I ache for the time to go to bed when I can take my dose of Zopiclone and ease myself towards the relative haven of unconscious sleep. Only this respite is fleeting because I normally wake again in the early hours to a rush of disturbing thoughts.

When I started this post, I said I was scared. I am frightened of being really ill again. I do not want to be so ill I end up in hospital again and yet, I crave the release suicide would give me. I am thinking of my suicide and consider seriously the benefits my death would bring for me and those who I affect through my tumultuous way of living. I wrote a blog post in 2018 about my relationship with suicidal ideation which I think expresses with some clarity what I face with this - here. It is sufficient to say I’m fearful where my thinking about suicide is leading me at the moment. Basically, I’m so fucking tired of fighting this illness, I ache for the release my suicide will give me. Death will be so absolutely final, and while this is the reality, it is an incredibly attractive one.

However! And yes there is a however. There is within me a notion of self-preservation which is why I reached out to my CPN and asked for her support. I’m prepared to trust myself to the professional help available to me. Additionally, as much as it may seem so through what I have written so far, I have not given up and I continue to function, even to the point of continuing to make jewellery, one thing I find gives me a sense of purpose and a level of internal peace. Admittedly, I have Transglobal Underground playing loudly on repeat through my headphones to distract me from my thinking, but each day at 5pm I close my work-shed with some sense of accomplishment.

This then is the chink of hope, even if at the moment I cannot see hope or even feel it. After all my desire to do the things I normally enjoy such as walking and kayaking have completely disappeared, replaced with a self-incriminatory lethargy. One thing I know is to work within these chinks as they appear, to appreciate them and to accept every opportunity towards recovery they offer. Right now, creating wearable art is the one thing which is offering me positivity in the midst of the descending blackness within me. I notice as I write these words, there is a recognition that not all is bleak, and despite what I might believe to be true, I am not totally useless. Finding my way into making a small living from my creativity is proving to be more than I could have ever hoped for.

This Week’s Production

So, what now? I am here and I’m not ready to give in. I hate where I am right now (within myself that is) and I am desperate for respite from this. At the moment I am safe and I make assurances to remain safe. I have more than enough cognitive resonance to understand what I am living through at the moment is pretty tough but this purely is due to my depression and will ease over time. My fear of sinking further into my depression is real and exists and this leads me into the tangled web of it all. It’s like untangling a hopeless knot of string - there just seems to be no solution or end to it all.

Please don’t be overly concerned for me. The fact I have written this and shared it so openly is an indication I am positively working to overcome this particular bout of severe low mood. Thank you for reading what I have written and please know I truly appreciate all the generously warm comments I receive here and on my various Social Media platforms.

I sincerely hope what I share is of interest and help to many.

Thank you.

A Dose Of Road Rage Exposes My Fault Lines

After eleven hours on the road, albeit a smooth enough 685km (428m) journey from the lovely Herefordshire market town of Ross-on-Wye, I indicated left and turned off the busy A82 into the short lane which led down to the Corran Ferry slipway. The queue of traffic already waiting for the short ferry crossing was almost to the top of the road and I saw I would have to pull in tightly to the rear of the car in front of me to allow other vehicles following me to join the queue. I noticed I should really make my way into the three overspill queue lanes but my access to these was blocked by the car in front, I could reach them without mounting the rough grass verge. Since the ferry had just arrived and was discharging its load, I surmised the queue would soon move forward as our vehicles were subsequently loaded.

The first vehicles off the small ferry were two huge yellow Highland Council road works vehicles, the front one of these obviously containing molten tar because of the signs to be aware of hot liquid the other loaded with grit. These two trucks pulled up to the junction with the A82 and looking in my mirrors I could see a large queue of traffic had formed because of the ferry queue spilling onto the main trunk road. This is the moment I realised it was up to me to move into the overspill queue lanes to ease this pressure but couldn’t do so without mounting the verge. Suddenly feeling indecisive I faltered and hoped the queue ahead of me would soon begin to move as cars were loaded onto the ferry. Looking in my wing mirror again I saw the driver of the first Highland Council climb out of his cab and walk with purpose towards our car. His face was thunderous and I knew with a sickening swoop in my stomach he was about to confront me.

In a matter of seconds he was on our car, thumping furiously on the roof and slapping my driver’s window, all the while screaming at me to “Move my fucking car into the overspill lane! - You fucking cunt of an idiot!” His rage was uncontrolled and for a brief second I wondered if he were about to wrench my driver’s door open and haul me out of my seat. He didn’t of course but he did move round to the bonnet of our car, continuing to thump on the bodywork and scream abuse at me.

Now, I am no wall flower and I have a temper too. In these split seconds my rage surged with indignation and with our eyes fiercely locking I flashed two fingers at him and shouted back “Fuck off you wanker!” No sooner I had expostulated these unhelpful words, Karen calmly suggested I calm myself and do as he was saying. It all happened so fast. I managed to pull our car up onto the verge and drive into the overspill lane but no other cars followed me so I stopped. As soon as I did this, this bulk of a man bore bore on our car again, his bunched fists readying themselves for more than thumping our body work. I prepared myself to get out of the car and face him, such was my anger too. I knew I wouldn’t have stood a chance in a physical confrontation but I’m not fearful of such things.

Suddenly the traffic queue began to move off smoothly and with a look of surprise (and maybe it was disappointment) the raging Highland Council roads operative turned away as I re-joined the queue. The ragefully angry situation was over and traffic was running again.

We were silent in the car, Karen thoughtfully allowing me to fume in silence as I brought myself down to a relative sense of calm. A few minutes later we spoke and both agreed that the man had been unpleasant and needn’t have been so aggressive in pointing out to us that it was our fault there was a queue of traffic forming. As is my wont, I mull experiences like these over and wonder what I could have done differently. It was obvious I should have not dithered when I saw the need for us to drive into the overspill queue lane and I ought to have forced my way through. Doing so would have set the precedent and the traffic stopping queue would not have formed and the Highland Council employee would not have become enraged, I berated myself for my indecision and concluded I had been at fault and suitably chastised myself.

The journey home continued without incident and after just missing the the ferry from Lochaline to Fishnish on Mull, we were home in Tobermory an hour later than planned. The whole journey had taken twelve hours and I was bushed.

Fast forward a day or so after this event and I find myself in an unhappy state. I’m indecisive and my thinking is overly self-critical. I have little goodwill to show myself and I ferociously berate any silly mistake I make. My general mood is low and I find myself cogitating over recent mistakes and a general sense I am simply not good enough. This self-belief of being a useless individual is pretty much a constant in my life. Recently through wonderfully successful therapeutic support I have come to understand more about this belief and its falsehoods but it is deeply ingrained and it doesn’t take much for it to dominate my sense of being.

We had spent the previous week with my parents which was a lovely family event. It was wonderful for us to spend time together after the deprivations of shared contact for over 18 months due to the pandemic and we were royally hosted as is my parents’ wont. I gave up thinking of my waistline and acceded to the offers of platefuls of good food and copious glasses of beer and whisky. The problem with me though, is I find it very difficult to see myself as being someone of worth and most certainly I believe myself to be an inadequate son who has let the family down. I won’t list my litany of perceived failures here, suffice to say, I feel dreadful much of the time when I think of the opportunities for different pathways I let slip by me and deep regret with some of the choices I instead made. I feel deep shame a lot of the time.

Now, you mustn’t imagine I live my life outwardly morose, always opining my sad lot in life. Quite the opposite. These self-critical views I hold on myself are largely masked and I successfully present myself as the cheeky chappie, devil may care, adventurous son, brother, uncle and dad that my family often see me as. Admittedly during this last week, this veneer has been fragilely thin and a few times I let my mask slip and presented myself as an easily injured individual, but on the whole, I think I kept my fragility intact and certainly out of sight.

Now I am home, I find myself fighting off a deepening bout of gloominess where I begin to hate myself and all that I do. I sense depression beginning to loom and I notice I’m thinking of suicide again. I’m certainly not at the level where I fear for my safety, but I realise my thinking is drifting in this direction. I have strategies to combat this deepening low and I have a ‘safe plan’ which I willingly refer to when I find my mood noticeably dipping. Generally a good dose of ‘Nature Cure’ is all that is required to set me back on track again. A few nights away camping and exploring with my kayak works wonders. However, I’m at a point where I find it difficult to allow myself the ‘luxury’ of getting away in my kayak. You see, I’ve been away for a week, I’ve not created any jewellery and I’ve not made any sales. I have to work and work hard! After all, I can see I’m not very good at what I do and I need to get better through hard work and determination. Do you see how easy it is for me to criticise myself?

Writing this has helped me. In doing so I have faced many of the negative beliefs I hold about myself and understand these to be manifestations of both my depression and my unfair self-criticalness. However, I find myself going back to one moment in time and angrily telling myself - “You should have pulled into the overspill lane and then none of these feelings of crapness would be happening!”

“It’s your fault!”

“You are a useless individual!”

So my story continues. My recovery from my depression is not straightforward, no matter how ebulliently I may present myself. I’m in a constant flow of self-query and self-awareness. The general direction is one of happy positivity and as I write those words, I know this to be true. It’s just sometimes my negative self becomes dominant enough to remind me of where I have come from and where I might end up again if I do not take care of myself.

I am determined this will not happen.

The African Python

A week ago, while paddling back to Tobermory from an overnight expedition to the northern coastline of the Ardnamurchan Peninsula, I was delighted to find myself once more in the presence of a large pod of Bottlenose Dolphins which, uninhibited, swam alongside me in my kayak for a good twenty minutes or so. A few folk when seeing the film footage I took of that incredible moment, have commented on being fearful during the encounter, asking if I was worried the Dolphins would have a go at me.

I am staying with my parents for a week. They live in the attractive market town of Ross-on-Wye in Herefordshire and it’s always lovely to visit them to be royally treated with plenty to eat and drink. They seem to forget I am now close to sixty years old and the metabolism of their once lithe, energetic and healthily fit son, is not as it was. I invariably end up returning home feeling the added centimetres to my portly girth. Nevertheless, the family evenings, sitting around the dining table after a gastronomic meal accompanied with generous libations invariably turn to convivial family reminiscing of our long ago lives lived in Africa. My Dad in particular, enthrals me with his many stories of his bush adventures, in particular the many fishing expeditions he enjoyed to the languid waters of the Zambezi River above the then very small town of Kazangula. However, it is his tales of his time as a Patrol Officer at the remote police station of Tuli which I love to hear him recount, even if they are repetitive renditions of familiar stories. The experiences he speaks with great passion about, occurred for him when he was a young man in his early twenties. If you ever meet my Dad, be sure to ask him about his beloved Shashi River in the Tuli Circle, or the time he came face to face with a lioness under a tree log, or the herd of elephants his faithful hound called Chaka Zulu, made his way through to reach my Dad at one of his regular nights out under the stars while on patrol. Each of these stories and the many others he tells, are made all the more richer for me, because I understand and can feel his eloquent descriptions of the sights, sounds and scents of the African bush around him.

In my early and formative years, I would regularly join my Dad on his longer patrols through the lowveld of what is now Zimbabwe but what was then Rhodesia. I would sit perched on the edge of a Series II Landrover seat, gasping in the dust laden coolish air sweeping in from the wide open air vents below the windscreen, as we rattled our way along corrugated dirt roads, these leading deep into the expansive hinterland of cattle ranches and farms. This was the 1960s and even then, this corner of Africa was relatively wild and untamed and it was common place to see the wildlife one associates with the African wilderness. My memories of these experiences are the clearest I have of when my love and passion for wildness became an integral part of my sense of being. It was on these trips where I learned from my Dad the skill of walking silently in the bush, how to sit perfectly still for hours at a time, honing my senses of sight, sound and smell to indicate when wildlife was close by. My patience of inaction was always repaid with wonderful wildlife encounters when unsuspecting animals would emerge before us when we were often perched out of sight on a rocky kopje. Through his deep understanding of the natural world around him, my Dad instilled in me a similar sense of personal comfort within the natural realm, where I was a part of the ecosystem around me, never frightened of it, but respectful of my place within it.

Now I’m nearing my sixties, I too have a range of tales I’m able to recount of my wilderness adventures, and similar to my Dad, they often involve wonderfully intimate encounters with wildlife. In fact, I’m so blessed to have a huge repertoire of such moments, that I’m often loathe to share them for fear of becoming a bore, or worse still, to be viewed as a braggart. No, the tales I have to tell are only shared when I am at my most comfortable and I sense the people listening to me will have some understanding of the depth of meaning to these stories, for they are redolent in allegory and metaphor.

One such tale I love to share, is the one where I encountered an African Rock Python when I was working as the Chief Instructor at the Outward Bound Centre in the foothills of the wild and rugged Chimanimani Mountains. The Outward Bound centre nestled against the flanks of the imposing mountains, hidden from sight by the surrounding foothills and thick brachestegia bhundu (bush). Twenty kilometres from the nearest town, the centre was an idyll for someone like me who thrived on wild isolation and deep immersion in wildness. One day, I decided to scout a number of locations for a large orienteering course I had designed which would test the navigational map reading skills of the course participants. This involved walking through the geographically featureless bush on compass bearings while pacing out the distances in metres. Part of the route of the orienteering course followed a long descending ridge along one of the lines of red earthed foothills. The ridge was heavily forested with muzhanji (mahobohobo) and msasa trees, the former littering the sun dappled grounds of these groves with cardboard dry leaves which crackled like gunshots under the feet of unimaginative walkers. To move silently through this bush was to acquire the art of agilely stepping from rock to rock and not touching the ground. In this way, I could move rapidly and silently through the forest, keeping my eyes open for timid bush buck, raucous baboons or even handsome eland antelope. On this day though, I encountered none of these though I could hear the baboons barking and shouting amongst themselves some distance away further up the Mangowe river valley. I ascended the low foothills and found myself on my chosen ridge line where I intended to place a couple of control points for the orienteering exercise. I had a couple of hours to complete my task and while this was certainly enough, it meant I couldn’t loiter.

The ridge was topped with long stretches of flat beds of sandstone rock, delightfully peppered with wonderfully coloured lichen. As I walked along this ridge, stepping as I was from rock to rock, avoiding the disasterously noisy Muzhanji leaves, I was suddenly confronted with an awareness that this was python country and I was going to meet a python. It was nothing more than that, a flash of realisation. I had gone no further than a couple of hundred metres along the ridge, scampering from one flat bed of rock to the other, like a slowly descending staircase shrouded in trees, when as I stepped down onto the next flat bed ahead, there lying in front of me, stretched out in its entirety was an African Rock Python. As with any of my snake encounters in the bush, my immediate instinct was to stop, stock still, choosing not to alarm the snake into taking protective action by attacking me. So it was, I found myself, standing a metre away from what was most definitely a fine looking python. This was the first python I had encountered at close quarters in wild, having only seen them from afar until this moment. As instinct instructed me to do so, I stood silent and perfectly still, watching the stretched out snake fro any indication it felt threatened by me. It is rare for these snakes to attack humans, so I was not fearing for my safety as such, though I have heard of them inflicting nasty ragged poison-less bites on people who have tussled with them. This particular snake did not seem perturbed at all. It had not raised its head or even flinched at my presence. It simply with what seemed lazy regularity, flickered its tongue, tasting the air and undoubtedly summing me up as I was it.

I’m no snake expert, so there was no way I could determine this, but I immediately saw the snake as a she - a female. I think it was her placidity and her incredible beauty which caused me to decide this. At three metres in length she was huge, and despite lying dormant on the sun baked bed of sandstone, she looked immensely powerful. Her beauty was almost indescribable. She had a strong flat speared shaped head with bright black eyes which were unblinkingly fixed on me. Her snout was slightly upturned and her flickering tongue heightened this perception. Her body was relaxed, her weight spread out on the sun heated reddish rock beneath her. I couldn’t help it, but I stepped, very slowly, toward her and making sure I wasn’t too close to her head, squatted on my haunches beside her. Now she seemed immense and for the first time I noticed the intricate richness of her colouration and markings. It was if she had freshly oiled herself because her skin gleamed in the sun and it was too much of a temptation not to - I reached out and ran my hand lightly along her spine, delighting in her surprising dry warmth and the evident sense of life pulsing through her. Again she did not flinch and I stroked her again, this time lingering as I did so, as if by doing this, I was gaining a deeper connection. She continued to lie placidly beside me on the rock and I was able to take in the sophisticated complexity of her markings. I was certain I could see tinges of rich purple and other iridescent colours which all melded perfectly together to created the variegated brown hues of her simple and effective bush camouflage of a seemingly roman mosaic inspired pattern of whorls and blotches.

Then, with the merest of whispers, she began to slide over the rock towards the step I had descended a few minutes earlier. Here there was a crevice which she slowly disappeared into, winding herself coil upon mighty coil in the tight niche. I briefly looked away and when looking back at her hiding place, was shocked at how difficult I found it to make her out, such was the effectiveness of her camouflage. She had decided our meeting had to come to an end and it was time for me to be on my way. I wanted to hang around, to see if she came out into the sun again, but I knew she was in there to stay until I had long departed. It was with a lightness in my step and a sudden sense of internal peace that I continued my way along the ridge, almost forgetting to scout the locations for the orienteering markers. My brief interaction with this beautiful python had impacted me hugely and continues to do so to this day, a good twenty nine years after it occurred. In recalling this experience, as I often do, I easily transport myself to that arbitrary location on the nameless ridge in the Chimanimani foothills, remembering with vividness her colours, her size and the warm dryness of her skin. It was a moment I have similarly experienced since then with wild creatures (deer, seals, otters and dolphins), but remains the one I most often choose to recount. I think this is because it was such a very special encounter for me. Pythons are relatively rare sightings in the African bush and certainly to come across one so placid and unperturbed was a privilege for me. I have long since pondered how it was I sensed I would come across the snake before doing so. I by no means have the power of second sight, but when I think about this, I have enjoyed similar premonitions with my wildlife encounters. Indeed, as I set off from home in my kayak in the morning last week, I had a strong feeling I would encounter the dolphins again and I was not surprised when they came up behind me. I think because I do not fear the nature I chance upon, I’m open to the wonderful possibilities these intimate moments have to offer. I know that there is always something for me to learn and gain from these interactions.

So, as I write this, I’m aware of how grateful I am to both my parents for imbuing me with a passionate love for all things wild. The six year old boy who assiduously walked silently and barefoot behind his father whenever out in the bush, became the man who continues to pass as silently as he can through the Scottish west coast seas he happily now calls his home.