07.03.21: Bravery as a Coping Mechanism

I've been referred to as 'brave' for my approach to my mental health, but is it really bravery when it's the only choice you have left?

I remember very little about that period.

A room, broken by bars of sunlight. An unmade bed. The spilling of something warm.

The process of breaking is - I think - a slow one, followed by an all-at-once. One day it’s a creeping thing, something you push back into the shadows. The next, those shadows have grown to claim you, too.

In 2017, I suffered what you might call a nervous breakdown. At my lowest point, I believed the world, and everyone I loved, would be better off without me. If I’m honest, they were closer than I have ever admitted to finding out if that was true.

What followed has been four years of recovery, therapy, poetry, and a reframing of my approach to mental health. Those familiar with my story will know that I have a wolf tattooed on my left hand, which is emblematic of how I deal with my anxiety today.

I have always characterised both anxiety and depression as wolves: stalking, snarling creatures that follow from the edge of the darkness. For a long time, I would run from these wolves, giving up anything that would bring them from the shadows. After my breakdown, I realised this approach wasn’t working; kneeling and begging are not viable strategies for a creature that knows nothing of mercy.

So, I decided to stop running, to accept the monster as part of who I am.

I had a wolf tattooed on the back of my hand, where I would see it every day of my life, as a reminder not to run - not to let it take from me, no matter how frightened I may be.

This approach - something a psychiatrist would later tell me is a form of reframing - helped me to gain some semblance of control, in a situation that had previously left me feeling powerless. For the first time, I felt like I was able to fight back, to draw a line in the sand and refuse to move any further towards the dark.

I have shared this story before, with both readers and journalists, and many of them have told me they think I’m brave for facing up to my demons - for baring my chest to the wolf. But I don’t think this is the kind of bravery people seem to think it is. In truth, it’s a coping mechanism. It became the only choice I had left.

I’m not proud to say it, but I tried every other option to cope, and none of them involved being brave. If running from my mental health had worked, I would still be running now. I would have hidden forever if I thought it meant the wolf wouldn’t find me.

Years ago, I was a performing musician. I tell people I stopped because it was too hard to make a living. The truth is I stopped because I couldn’t get over the panic, the surging anxiety before a show. When socialising made me anxious, I stopped seeing friends. When travelling caused panic attacks, I stayed at home. Cowardice was my first choice for a long time. My first instinct was always to turn from the things that frightened me, and run.

Eventually, I understood that giving up the things that make you anxious, doesn’t help. You simply find new things to worry about. All running ever did was leave me exhausted, but somehow still in the same place I started. Drinking, drugs, denial, self-destruction, anger, pushing people away - none of these things made any difference, but I tried every one of them. I opted for anything other than fighting. Anything other than facing the things that haunt me.

I took this approach because bravery was the only option I had left - not because it came naturally to me, but because I didn’t have any other choice.

I’m sharing this with you, because I’ve been thinking about it a lot, recently. I’m lucky enough to say that people read the things I write, and I want them to know the background to some of these stories. I don’t want anyone reading about my approach to mental health, and thinking they need to be something they’re not in order to find a way back from anxiety. You don’t need to be a warrior to fight; you don’t need to be brave to show bravery.

I am a flawed, fragile human being. If I have shown courage, it’s only because I have had to; because I’m still trying to find a way to morning. I guess what I’m saying is, anyone can find the path to recovery, because - believe me - if I can do it, so can they.

I chose bravery because it was the last chance I had at recovery. And eventually, that coping mechanism led me here. To poetry. To you.

And the truth is, there is nowhere I would rather be.

Yours,

Blake