Stormy Weather

Firstly let me immediately disapoint you, if you’re expecting to hear or read about Ella Fitzgerald’s magnificent interpretation of the above. It’s actually about the prevaling weather conditions here in the heart of County Down. Because of the stormy conditions, Banbridge has been blown slightly off course and is now floating somewhere near the land of Oz.

Often in life we are”blown off” course. Sometimes because of prevailing economic situations, accidental collisions with another vehicle, or by emotional upheaval in our lives.  Let me tell you, again, I might add, about one of the biggest “emotional”, and mentally challenging roller coaster rides of my life. Why, some eight years on, do I want to share the story with you. Largely because it may serve you in some way to, at best empathise, or perhaps help you to avoid or escape the same difficult path. Why, jut now?. Well, you see, it was World Mental Health Day last Monday, and Mental Health week last week in Southern Ireland, and I felt it appropriate to talk about such matters in a more open way.

On Monday I visited my good friends at Solas, part of the St Davnett’s Complex in Monaghan, to celebrate the great work they do to help those recovering from or dealing with mental health issues. On the day they had invited Joe Finnegan from Shannonside Northern Sound radio station to present his highly succesful programme from their building. Dana Rosemary Scallon even made an appearance later in the day. All in all it was an opportunity for those with mental health problems to hear what help is out there for them, on their own radio station.

Having worked with the same radio station for almost ten years off and on since 1991, I felt it was time to share my experiences with mental health problems, with Joe’s listeners. On Friday last we spoke on air about that period of “Stormy Weather” in my life time

It began with an intense weekend course with Landmark Forum way back in September 2003. A week later, over the course of an All Ireland football Final weekend, it would reach those scarry “roller coaster” moments of fear , fortitude and fixation, that will live with me forever.  After the initial Landmark experience, I began to believe that “anything was possible”. By the end of that week, having been unable to sleep in the mean time, I started to become, in simple terms, dilusional. On a car trip to Dublin to stay overnight in Dublin before the 2003 final, being driven by my brother, I had the first experience of “believing that I had died, like Jesus on the cross”  For the rest of the evening I began to preach that the answer to all our problems was Jesus. Throughout the night  I had thoughts that I was either in Hell or in Limbo. At that stage, Limbo still existed. It’s been dumped by the catholic church in recent years.  No bad thing.  In the early morning sunlight I believed that I had been reborn again. Asa the day progressed, my thoughts became more erratic, with highs and lows, full of joyous outbursts, closely followed by moments of complete terror.  By 3’0′clock, with an All Ireland Final in the offing, I got up from my Hogan stand seat, and began, without mobile phone, money or coat, to walk towards Dromore in County Down. Where does logic go when you really need it

Seven hours later I was walking the roads just outside Castlebellingham, County Louth, having had one lift along the way. In the darkness the madness ensued. As my mind raced at what seemed to be the speed of light, I “believed” that passing drivers were actually visitors from Mars, the planet, rather than the chocholate manafacturers. Their eyes glowed. I walked faster, avoiding eye contact. I walked through the village, certain in the knowledge that my mind was merely working out a place and time to “end it all”.  I sat motionless in a farmers field, shaking in the belief that the end was near and that my family would surely find me in the morning. A half an hour later, no less confused, I made it to the side of a major road, where, by the good will of the universe in which we all live, I was rescued by the local Gardai. They then contacted a brother who came and collected me.  Four hours later, having created a scene and much noise in their home, they had me taken to the local hospital. After an “escape attempt” from there, failed, they transported me to secure accomadation in St Lukes in Armagh. Are you still with me, or has it all been too unbelievable, or scarry for you so far?  Fear not, as D:Ream would put it “Things can only get better”

A month of recovery in Craigavon followed, with medication to maintain a level of sanity. All things are relative, I suppose. Compared to a month before, I was certainly in a saner place, though just as scarry. I was continuosly anxious, uncertain that the madness of my weekend psychotic attack would return or not. I couldn’t sleep so was continuosly tired and agitated. Most noteable of all was my inability to express in words exactly how I felt. There was complete abscence of joy in my life.  The only light was when my 9 year old son would come home from school to sit beside his dad, arms around my shoulders, reassuring me, in his own way, that things would get better. 

This state of depression would continue, with slow, very slow progression for the next three years. Medication continued, though I managed to reduce doseage slowly over the time. A major breakthrough for me was the chance to go on a simple course called Mood Matters, run by a Monaghan based psychologist, Shane Martin. he had been a guest on my radio programme and had invited me to take part in his course. The biggest breakthrough was hearing about Cognative Behavioural Therapy. I can still hear Shane’s explanation “In a computer if you put garbage in, you get garbage out, if you put positive information in, you get positive information out” The human mind is much the same and it’s just a question of continuing to put positive thoughts in to receive positive action out the other end.  It was something that didn’t exactly create shockwaves within me immediately. It’s a realisation that it took a few months for it to become my choosen method of recovery. I can’t begin to suggest that it is the only way to recovery. Indeed Shane never promised it to be the answer for everyone. For me I know it did work, and indeed continues to work. If you are one of the one in four in our country who does, or know someone who does find themselves in that “dark hole”, gently nudge, suggest, point them in the direction of CBT.

That “Stormy” part of my life is behind me now, I believe forever. I choose to believe that, even though it was the most difficult time in my life, it offered me insight into a dark place from which there can be release. I now have a deeper spiritual belief, a graeter desire to celebrate the smallest piece of joy, to understand that life is so much about community and sharing, rather than self attainment. There’s plenty of opportunity for that too.

Thank you for sharing my visit to the land of Oz. Time now to gather Toto, click my heels and say “I wish I was home in Banbridge”  ”I wish I was home in Banbridge” ”I wish I was home in Banbridge”

Day in the life….

Busy and highly eventful day yesterday. Banbridge Business Network at 7 30 am, a great experience talking to the Altnaveigh Womens group at 10 30, facebook frolics and tantalising tweeting from midday, a half an hour in a seminar at Greenshoots Newry-Ltd on Cloud Computing, which,thanks to Vikas Sahni from Softedge Soloutions, I learned is far from an new trendy technology, rather a 53 year old phenomena, a year younger than myself, which began with the ubiquitous credit card. Onwards to Belfast, not to see the “outstanding in her own field, or a wheat field of a farmer” Rihanna at the Odyssey, rather than to catch up with odyssey of one of the presidential candidates in the forthcoming Irish Presidency elections. Mary Davis was the guest of the President’s Club, chaired by Mark J Finlay . After that, hanging on the coat tails of the aforementioned Mr Finlay, I managed, with a couple of others, Raymond Sexton and Pat Carroll, to enjoy a fine dinner at the NISP Connect 25K Awards gala evening, held in an enormous marquee, erected just yards away from the dry dock where the mighty Titanic received it’s final clean up, before setting out on it’s auspicious travels. Presented by Wendy Austin, BBC Radio Ulster, the evening celebrated 10 innovative “inventors and developers” The overall winner, Peter Buchannon, is hoping to produce a satellite receiver that doesn’t rely on a dish or require pointing towards a satellite. The company is called Flish. Watch out, it could be part of all our futures. I also met, thanks to Nichola Bates, a world class animator,Greg Maguire who worked on Hollywood blockbusters from Harry Potter to Happy Feet, who was born in Downpatrick and chooses to live in Northern Ireland. In the words of Van Morrison in an oft quoted song. Wouldn’t it be great if it could be like this, here, all the time……

Tomorrow, Friday, I’ll stay at home and do the washing

Rome Wasn’t Built In A Day

How long does it take to produce good work? For some, depending on their desired outcome, that could range from a minute to a lifetime. For me the answer has to be, whatever time you assign to it. The month of May has just passed. Last night saw the publication of “100 Faces of Women”, a documentary film for Newry & Mourne Women’s Group which began filming in the first week of that month.  Apparently similar projects have required weeks and months to see the light of day. A deadline is a wonderful thing.

Let me give you an idea of just what the project was all about and just how special it became to all involved. 30  women from north and south of the border, from a variety of social, religious and cultural backgrounds, spent 6 days at Ti Culainn Centre, exploring their lives as they expressed their thoughts and feelings about the women who inspired them.  The premise for the project sounded simple enough, the process a little more complicated and involved.

Facilatator Phil Killeen, with years of experience from working at Glencree Centre for Peace and Reconcilliation in County Wiclow was appointed and along with Ann Cannon, who also facilitates for groups across Ireland,  delivered a programme that engaged the women in a journey of self discovery. It sometimes proved to be painful bringing memories and feelings to the surface that had been buried or masked . By creating a safe environment where it was possible to express fears and emotions in a trusting, sharing collective, many were able to express parts of themselves they had allowed to lie dormant and untouched for years. All of this with a man and a camera recording virtually every word.   “Blessed are thou amongst women”

In the end, after many activities and discussions, including painting exercises and a performance of a mini-play, we produced the documentary, showing the process, concluding with insights into some of the women who had influenced participants during their lifetimes. I use the word “we” because it was a joint production. Sure, I did all the filming, editing etc…that’s what I do. Credit, though, where credit is due. I couldn’t produce the final product unless I had the full trust, support and input from each and everyone who took that journey. As the 6 days came to an end, I fully realised that acceptance had arrived when it was announced that I was now deemed to be an “honourary woman”  With a first name like mine, many have believed me to be a woman anyway, so the accolade seemed easy to accept. I thank all who took part for enriching my experiences over what now seems like a very short month of May

So back to the start of all this. How llong does it take to produce good work? In this and most every other case, just as long as the time you give it.

Listen, Do You Want To Know A Secret?

I’ve been talking to Liz Brown from Pure Protection Ltd who was guest speaker at our May monthly meeting of the Banbridge Business Network

Liz Brown

The End Of The World Is Nay

So, the fateful day has come and went. May 21st, 2011. The day 89 year old Harold Campion predicted to his many followers around the globe that Jesus Christ would return to the world and that the earth would be “shaken and rocked to it’s foundations” Paddy Power and the likes probably relished those who took a bet on the whole affair. If it didn’t happen, they were quids in. If it did come to pass, then punters were unlikely to be able to cash in.

Most certainly Harold Campion and his organisation, Family Radio were dollars, if not quids in. Mr Campion seems to be a tad unfortunate in his foray into the world of  ”Mystic Meg”.  His prediction for a calamitous conclusion to creation in 2000 was a little premature. He, you might say, will never make a prophet, though he appears, along with a few others, to have made quite a substantial profit. Poor puns aside, there’s quite a few serious questions to be answered by the octogenarian. Surprise. surprise, at the time of writing, he has not appeared to face an expectant and enquiring melee of media parked outside his Californian home, in a U.S. State that is permanently “waiting for the Big One” that will take the Western U.S. crumbling and tumbling into the Pacific Ocean.

The whole affair took me back, like an arrow, to a point in time that I often go when I hear predictions of the World’s imminent demise. Back to the lower classroom quadrangle of St Colman’s College , Newry, on an early Wednesday morning just before half past eight, on a fresh Spring day in 1970. Like many of my friends, boarders and dayboys, I was just a little concerned about the approaching calamitous deadline issued by a long forgotten “prophet of doom and gloom”.  As a young teenage boy, like my contemporaries, I wandered almost in a daze of dark thoughts as the particularly precise predicted moment arrived. Friends were greeted with hugs, rather than the usual two fingered greeting of old, just in case. The young mind raced with thoughts of impending disaster, not seeing family ever again, never getting the chance to grow old, or having the chance to kiss a girl. At 13 we all have dreams and aspirations.

As the moment approached, I can still remember the heightened expressions of worry on the ‘furrowed brows” of those around me. No digital watches in those days to offer the opportunity of a collective comrades countdown. We all seemed to look to the sky at what we considered the appropriate moment, looking for a sign, perhaps the braking of the clouds as the Four Horsemen strode across a darkening sky.

I could feel a sharp intake of breath, in expectation of it being my last…..then a sudden peal of the school’s bell shook us all back to reality as we all realised that perhaps the world would continue for a little while longer.  Smart alec Smiddy, a third year from Annaclone, always first with the answers in Geography lessons quipped “Sure, maybe the prediction was made in New York and sure they’re 5 hours ahead of us!”  ” Aye”, said Stiffy, from the shores of Lough Neagh, always the quickest of wits,” and maybe it was made about Northern Ireland, and sure we’re fifty years behind the times.”

Later, that afternoon, as Mr Hollywood began another English class, we had almost finally talked ourselves out of and forgotten the uncertainty and mild fear of the mornings events. It was only when he asked for the previous nights homework from a dillentary student that we finally cleared our system. “and why haven’t you brought up your homework, young Mackin.”….”Please sir, I didn’t do it because the world was going to end this morning, sir”

From that day to this I’ve heard dozens of predictions of Doomsday and Armageddon knocking on the door, around the next corner, just days away. Since that less than fateful day, I’ve taken them all with a full bag of sodium chloride.

According to the Mayan calender the world will end in November 2012.Excuse me, but would you have a phone number for Paddy Power

On My Soap Box

Technology, since the creation of the wheel and before, has been a wonderful “vehicle” assisting the evolution of society. Where would you be without your android, iphone, “tablet” or whatever is your”poison” of choice for communicating. Exponential speed of development suggests that we’ll all be able to ask Lt Uhuru to “beam us aboard” within a few decades. I’ll let you try the “beaming” process first if you don’t mind.

With all progress comes an obstacle or two. These days it’s usually the cry of “broadband down”, a “No Service” message on your mobile or a  ”driver could not be installed” coming up on your non reflective lcd monitor., which is where I come in. I’m not looking for sympathy. It’s a problem faced by many and I’m sure I’ll found a solution before too long. In every problem there’s an opportunity. In my case the problem is that it’s holding up working on a project. The opportunity is that I can finally, after months of procrastination, I have started a blog. On a related note, the search for the world’s worst procrastinator is to be launched tomorrow in New York…..or the day after perhaps

I have a very interesting life. One that takes me to many places across Ireland, well mostly Northern Ireland, giving me the chance to meet wonderful people from all walks of life. On Friday I acted as MC at Cancer Research UK’s Relay For Life held in Ballygawley. The event at Riverside Park in the Co Tyrone village ran for twenty four hours with dozens of people camping overnight, walking in memory of those who have passed away through the scourge of cancer. The event had moments of great poigniancy and reverence alongside great moments of celebration and community sharing. Thelma Rainey, local organising committee chairperson, was able to announce how the various groups had fundraised £60,000 for research purposes.

From there it was a speedy journey down the M1, through Lurgan to the town of Dromore, Co Down for their now annual Soap Box Derby. The event was organised and run by Dromore In Action, a cross community group set up a mere three years ago to promote and develope the area. With “boxes” coming from as far as Dungannon , Lisburn and Hillsborough, the local population enjoyed an evening. My role was simple. “We need a Murray Walker and we think you’re it
Donagh ” to quote chair of D.I.A.. Pat Rooney. Between myself and well known local Peter Branker, we managed to report on how the drivers traversed the tricky Mount Street corners and chicanes, the cleverly placed bails of hay protecting rider and spectator from potential harm, eventually “warming up” the crowd with an extemporised singing of YMCA. Check out photographer Drew McWilliams  website for some photographic evidence

From one soap box to another, this time one I’m using myself, to stand on to be heard above the crowd

Sunday was a day for slowing down. A trip to the less than bustling city of Newry for a few errands. It was here that I spied something that unsettled me for the rest of the day. I haven’t bought a newspaper for quite a while though I would more often than not quickly scan the front pages for major news and stories. What caught me eye on this occasion was a headline combined with a couple of photographs. The newspaper, Sunday Life, decided to combine the titles of a recent TV series “Big Fat Gypsy Wedding” with some photos, of young participants celebrating their First Communion ceremonies. I stopped in my tracks and looked again. The papers tactics had worked. I took note of the page once again. Was it shock that the paper had uncovered some secret, nefarious criminal who was holding society to ransom, where the exposing perhaps some double standards among people of previouly moralistic outbursts? No. They were, as I choose to see it, openly practicing in child abuse. Yes, I’ll make the accusation again. Child abuse. The majority of subjects in the photographs were below or around the age of 7. I don’t know , nor care, that the paper had permission from their parents to allow the photos to be used for publication. That is a separate matter between the parents and the newspaper and something for both parties to deal with. I am taking to task the editor of the publication. Can he explain to me how he allowed the images of young children, from which ever creed, colour, culture or community to be used to suggest, hint, reinforce stereotypical, perhaps even racist linkages to a “clever” headline, just for a few laughs, to sell more newspapers.  I shall certainly let the paper know of my thoughts. Watch this space. well, actually a future blog rather than that particular space, if you will

“Captain McKeown here, Lt Uhuru…Time to beam me onboard…my co ordinates?…soapbox on wordpress blog…What’s that you say…computer says no………”