Seth shares his life story in: Seth on stigma

Seth opens up about some challenges he faced in his childhood. Some very difficult subjects are tackled with as much candour & honesty as Seth is brave enough to share with you. Seth goes onto to explore issues he faces as an adult including a significant mental illness & pernicious addiction issues.

Seth hopes that sharing this with you will help you deal with struggles you may have faced, are facing or may face.

trigger warning:

topics include:

- addiction

- mental health

- suicide

but also…

hope

scroll to the bottom if you want to listen to this talk otherwise enjoy the following transcript (slightly edited version):

One possible definition of the word ‘stigma’ is a mark of disgrace associated with a particular circumstance, quality or person. Stigma can be ‘made-flesh’ by pricking or branding a person. This definition is interesting because branding in particular is about something permanent and it's for life. As if once a person admits to struggling with an aspect of the human condition, whether internally or externally, they may forever be defined or branded as someone that's weak, unable to cope and not like the rest of us normal folk.

Let me lay out my stall. My take on stigma will be largely drawn from my own personal experiences and thoughts. I'm nervous about being vulnerable & sharing so candidly with you all about some fairly intimate details. But I think the process of reflecting on my life & openly sharing some of the results with you, helps me as much as it may help you. But better out then in. I hope an audio recording like this one diminishes some of the power of stigma.

I grew up with a dad that had a very acute mood disorder. Bipolar affective disorder to use the official current lingo - a term particularly favoured when viewing human distress through the lens of the medical model. Back then it was called ‘manic depression’. Dad was also an addict, principally to alcohol, but also possibly marijuana. I know a lot of people are quite relaxed about marijuana, but he used to smoke the strong stuff and quite excessively. And when you’re prone to being high, or manic or paranoid it's a very potent concoction. Dad was essentially a very kind and loving man - he was my hero - but when he was unwell, he could be absolutely destructive and terrifying, primarily to himself, but pretty much to everyone around him too, me included.

Dad was often chaotic & projected his rage on to all those around him. This meant that despite my love & need for him, for about two and a half years, when I was in the early years of secondary school, I refused to have any contacts with Dad whatsoever. My childhood and teenage years were difficult at times. For much of it Dad was very unwell, in active addiction and actively suicidal, and made several very serious attempts on his life. He was in and out of hospital most of his life.

When Dad was high he would often have messianic beliefs. Sometimes he genuinely did believe he was Jesus. Without warning Dad would then slide into an all-encompassing depression - dead to the world. Dad’s denial about his mental illness and addictions made matters even more difficult. On many occasions Dad was sectioned by the state against his will; forced to undergo electro-convulsive treatment - which sometimes reduced the intensity of his depression but erased significant chunks of his memory too. At times taking enough medication to sedate a horse, yet still remaining high & manic - these were his lot. 

I recall as a child visiting Dad at Guy's Hospital - a world-renowned mental health provider situated in the heart of London. Previously a brilliant man, Dad was now stooped in front of the TV watching inane daytime TV programs. Dad was compulsively smoking (you could smoke indoors then), dribbling down himself due to the sedative effects of his medication. When Dad finally noticed my presence I’m not sure he knew who I was. Or if he did, he was suspicious as to my motives. And he could hardly muster the energy to say hi. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't all awful and depressing. We managed to have many happy moments, but I think deep down, I always knew that dad really wanted to be dead. So he could simply stop suffering. I felt that this was a secret we shared. He eventually did kill himself on March 4th 2000 by jumping in front of a train.

So the background ‘music’ to significant parts of my childhood & adolescence was:

severe mental illness; instability; paranoia; confusion; addiction; suicide; unemployment & the breakdown of our nuclear family. 

I had the support of a very loving mother (& still do) who was also very skilled at working with trauma. Ironically, as a very successful Child Psychotherapist, helping young people navigate adversity was her job. My wonderful sister and a lovely wider family and friends too. But this only mitigated some of the effects.

What do I recall from my childhood & early years as an adult? Deep grief, profound shame. And I still feel some of that today. Existential despair, rage, embarrassment, and fear. I had a strong sense that something terrible was inevitable - Dad would either kill one of us or himself. I think at some deep level, a child or young adult does comply with society's need not to fully embrace and accept the mentally unwell. As a young boy, it is very important who your dad is. What could I say to people about mine? What was expected, what should not be mentioned? Just what were the implicit rules of silence and denial that I sensed I should obey.

Shame & secrets can keep us sick. I was acutely aware that ‘my Dad was mad’ & this reality can carry a fairly large dose of stigma for an adult, let alone a child and a young adult. For my Dad’s parents, in many ways, they and their peers regarded his mental illness and addiction, a sign that he was simply weak-willed and unable to cope. Dad’s parents loved him dearly but they grew up in a time & place where the stigma of mental illness was all pervasive. And Dad’s decline represented a source of shame for the family - a failure of upbringing. I suspect, at times, Dad’s parents blamed themselves for Dad’s demise. Dad’s addiction in particular, which I now view as a form of mental illness, was particularly shameful.

At times I found it difficult to relate to my peers who in comparison to me seemed to be so carefree and joyous. My own interest in life diminished. Who cares about A-levels and girls when dad wants to die?

So I've grown up with this compounded trauma, and to this day still feel profoundly alone - particularly in the company of others. Even though I'm blessed with beautiful friends, meaningful work (buddi bench!) & a very supportive and loving family, I just have an acute sense that no one really knows what it is like to live with the terror, confusion, grief, and rage that for so many years I buried and society and stigma encouraged me to keep buried. It seemed to me that society was not only a place where stigma and judgment thrived, but was also deeply in denial itself.

If I did try and talk to people about how I thought my dad would kill himself, and I did, I would largely be encouraged to ‘look on the bright side’ that it was unlikely to happen. How could I be sure? Maybe Dad's suicidal ideation & serious attempts on his life were ways of seeking additional support? ‘Your Dad is going through a bad patch, but things would get better.'

Of course, these responses were well-intentioned, but in truth, not very helpful. As if my truth were not acceptable or valid. In many ways, it seemed to me that there was, and maybe still is, an unspoken conspiracy to not talk about mental illness, addiction and suicide. As if just by raising it such ideas could become contagious. As if the shame associated with these issues is just too much to bear. No, no, no. Far better and safer to talk about the weather and what's happening on the latest TV soap drama.

A couple of years after his suicide, I myself became very unwell and was sectioned and there was quite a story behind that. I was eventually diagnosed with bipolar too. It wasn't until years later that I finally acknowledged I have addiction issues too & I’m pleased to say I’m now in active recovery.

And so I now have to live with the stigma of having labels applied to me: alcoholic; bipolar; unstable; chaotic; damaged goods - truly my father's son.

Without doubt, the stigma in society about mental and emotional distress is very damaging. It seems to me the real damage of stigma is that it tends to get internalised and then it is very easy to imprison oneself with labels. For example, I'm bipolar - this defines me. One becomes self-censoring and one's own oppressor.

If society were a person, I think it would be deemed very unwell - a strong contender for forced incarceration within a psychiatric hospital. Obsession with celebrity and the body beautiful. Status, money and power, little thought for the planet or others. And a neurotic belief that being busy and stressed are signs of a life fully lived. Where we unconditionally worship ‘provable’ glorious science, as mindlessly as it would seem in previous generations we unconditionally worshiped the unprovable. The current implied maxim being: ‘if it can't be measured, then it doesn't exist.’ Where does this leave love I ask? But that's a topic for another day.

From my experience, many people that get labelled with a mental health diagnosis have had some form of significant trauma in their life. Abuse, addiction, directly or indirectly, abandonment, emotionally repressed or dysfunctional family system systems, the list goes on. Could it be that people that are labelled mentally unwell are simply are more sensitive to the madness all around them? You would have to be mad to be sane under current global realities.

So over the years, I have learned a few ways to deal with stigma.

Humour is probably the thing that I rely on most. I've learnt not to take anything too seriously, including myself. Life simply is too short.

Therapy has been very helpful for me. Deep exploration of my own traumas and issues has undoubtedly been of benefit. And being in active recovery from my addictions has also been wonderfully healing & transformative.

Overall, I've just learned to need the approval of others less. It seems to me that in many instances, we give our powers to others without realising we’re doing this.

Being able to be vulnerable, particularly with people, I don’t that well or at all, so some of you listening to or reading this, is a sign of great internal strength. This in itself gives me a lot of satisfaction, inspiration & freedom.

Philosophy. I particularly love the work of Epicurus. If you haven’t ever read this chap, I strongly recommend it. He’s got a beautiful idea about ripples. The idea of throwing a pebble in the water & positive things rippling outwards from the initial action. Good creates more good exponentially.

Being open, honest, and okay with my truth, but not needing my truth to be the version of truth that others have to share. There is plenty of room for everybody. 

And of course connecting with you, online & offline as part of my work with buddi bench™.

My hope is that one day emotional and mental health will be as readily discussed and accepted as we would talk about having the flu. That people focus on our similarities not our differences. To take seriously the key idea from Manhattan Gandhi who suggests we should be the change we wish to see in the world.