So, seven years ago I was diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder (DID). No, I hadn’t heard of it either. I was 16 at the time – I was in an adolescent psychiatric ward, a secure intensive care ward, 230 miles from home. It was terrifying. Getting a diagnosis was a positive, a weight off my mind, it all made so much sense. I was given some literature to read and it was practically my life story. Then the journey really began.
Suicide in men is one of the greatest problems of our time and yet one of the least talked about topics. What many don’t realise is that suicide is the leading cause of death in men under 50 despite the fact twice as many women get diagnosed with depression. Just have a little think about those two facts for a few seconds. It’s not cancer, or road accidents, or some other topic the media loves to run with like global warming that is killing men, it’s suicide.
I was twelve years old and I remember the day as if it only happened yesterday. Me and my dad had just come out of The Book Shop in St John’s Precinct, Liverpool, and we decided to sit down in the canteen whilst we were waiting on my Mum and to sister to finish their shopping. He took out the book he just bought me which was Harry Potter and the order of Phoenix which I still haven’t read to this day (so for that I apologise dad!) although the message on the front page I read over and over again.
I remember when my father had a breakdown, caused mainly by intense pressure at work. It was the first time I had ever seen him ill and it came completely out of the blue. In a matter of weeks he turned from being a healthy and functioning 59 year old man into a shadow of himself.
I remember when my father had a breakdown, caused mainly by intense pressure at work. It was the first time I had ever seen him ill and it came completely out of the blue. In a matter of weeks he turned from being a healthy and functioning 59 year old man into a shadow of himself.