This is my entry for the #bycolemancontest writing contest. You can read about this contest in this post.

I've decided to write about a topic that I rarely speak about to anyone. Not even my wife. It was a time in my life that I would rather not focus on, however there are definitely some lessons that we can learn from this experience.

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Mental Health in your Home

I grew up in a small town outside of Adelaide. It was a close knit community and everyone knew each other. I could walk the street at any time of day, and every single person that I walked past would greet me by my first name.

It was an excellent place to grow up as a kid, and my parents had moved here so that my Sister and I could grow up in a town that was warm and friendly, and where we could really be kids.

_{The Adelaide Hills, South Australia}

My parents were both business owners, and in the early years, things were going well. But as time went on, their businesses began to struggle. And my Dad started working massive hours to keep the business afloat while my Mother ran the other business from home and did her best to look after me and my sister.

My parents workload was intense, and it took its toll on my Dad. I was too young to recognise what was happening at the time, but my Dad's mental health was degrading fast. He went from being a happy, energetic and fun Dad, to one that we were scared of and had to tip toe around whenever he was in the house.

Our only consolation as kids was that he worked long hours, and that my Mother was also working hard to keep the businesses on track while also taking care of my Dad and us. This meant that if we didn't want to be around Dad, we could simply slip away unnoticed. I spent many hours away from the house. We lived on a decent sized property so it was easy for me to escape and be on my own. I also had a lot of friends who I could visit in the area if I needed to stay away. I was one of those kids that didn't get homesick, I was happier when I was with a family that seemed relaxed and happy in each other's company. But it did make me realise that my family wasn't "normal".

_{The Black Dog - a common Image symbolising depression}

My Dad was never physically violent, but often threatened my Mother and us with violence. As a young kid, this was terrifying. I vividly recall a time when my Dad was threatening to hit my Mother in the bathroom. I jumped in-between the two of them to stop them fighting and struck my head on a step into the shower, cutting my head open and spraying blood everywhere.

I can actually remember not caring about the injury, I was simply happy to see my parents stop arguing and the tension in the house lifting as they both worked to stop the blood flowing from my head.

Everything came to a head on a night where we'd ordered take away food for dinner. Ordering take-away food was a rare thing in our house, so I actually think it may have been part of a celebration of some sort. When the food arrived we divided everything up on to plates. My Dad received his plate of food and we all watched his expression change. He started saying over and over again that his fish was too small. He started crying and repeating the same sentence. My sister and I took one look at each other and went to the other side of the house to eat alone. What we'd just witnessed was my Dad's mental breakdown. But we were too young and naive to realise what it was.

_Source

I remember things starting to change from this moment. I knew something was wrong with my Dad. But we never spoke about what was wrong with him. It was clear to us that our family was far from normal. It wasn't until a few years ago that I found out what happened after that time. Shortly after the fish and chip night, my Mother found a letter that my Dad had written to her and hidden in a place that he thought she wouldn't check.

My Dad had written a suicide note and had planned out every detail of his suicide. He had everything ready and was just waiting for the day that he knew he'd be able to put his plan into action.

If my Mother hadn't found that note, I wouldn't have a Dad today. As soon as she found it, she somehow (I still don't know how she did this) forced him to change his mind, start receiving therapy and onto some medication to help his severe depression. The strength that my Mother must have shown at this time is inspiring. I don't know any other person who could have taken on this stress and succeeded in the way that she did. She was caring not only for two young children, but also a very unwell man who needed a lot of support.

_Source

Things didn't get better immediately of course, but over the years my Dad started to get better. Today (a few decades later), my Dad is a new man. He's happy, relaxed and he's working hard to re-build the relationship that he was unable to build with his kids while he was under the grips of his terrible mental illness. He's even managed to almost entirely remove medication from his treatment. He still receives therapy from time to time however the frequency of treatment is far less then what it was all those years ago. And now, in retirement, my Mum and Dad are able to have fun and enjoy their time together. They're no longer working insane hours to try and make a success of their business.

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So, what is the message that I'm trying to communicate here?

This story is really about how mental illness can impact on families rather than just the individual. There's no doubt that mental illness is a terrible thing for an individual to experience, however my Dad's mental illness impacted an entire family. Most of all, it severely impacted on my Mother. She was responsible for trying to minimise how my Dad's illness affected my Sister and I, while trying to take care of him.

She was also faced with a decision; get out with her kids and escape the situation she was in, or do her best to get my Dad treatment and care so that he could get better. My Mother made the biggest sacrifice of all of us in order to make sure my Dad didn't make that fatal decision and end his life.

My Mother's strength is impressive, and she hid her own stress incredibly well for all of those years. My Mother's commitment to her family is incredible, she did so much for us and asked for nothing in return. My Mother told me many years later that she had very seriously considered leaving with my Sister and I on a number of occasions. I'm sure that my Father recognises the sacrifice that his wife made, and is now incredibly thankful for her. He shows this through the poetry that he writes her from time to time.

_Source

The other way that mental illness affected our family was that it prevented my Dad from building a real relationship with his kids. There were so many parts of our lives that he missed out on. And he surely feels a huge amount of sadness and guilt as a result of this. As my Sister is older than me and remembers more of these years more vividly than me, she's had a harder time re-building that relationship since my Dad started getting better. I've been luckier here, and can happily say that my Dad and I are close friends now.

I also wonder how different things would be if my Mother decided to tell my Sister and I what was really going on with our Dad. I often think that it would have been better to be honest with us and tell us in plain english what we were all experiencing. While mental health wasn't a common or even well understood topic at this time, it would have been incredibly helpful for us to understand what our Dad was going through. And we certainly would have resented him for his behaviour less as well.

Mental health can be a shocking thing for families to endure, but if you do have someone in your family that is suffering from a similar affliction, perhaps make sure every family member understands the situation so that they can be sensitive to the issue and understand what type of support the individual needs.

I'd love to hear your thoughts, experiences and opinions in the comments

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