this page is for my old articles, written for other websites in 2017 and 2018.
That's Lake Como by the way. I took this picture while on a holiday last year and it was an awesome sight, as you can see.
I wrote this first article about Italy for a website called 'Gum on My Shoe'. 'Gum on My Shoe' is run by a Facebook friend of mine who has published a book recently called 'High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friends Guide to Bipolar Disorder'. I have added one or two changes (improvements?) to the article as it appears on Gum on My Shoe.
'Taking my mental illnesses to Italy for a holiday' by Peter McDonnell
Last week I returned from a three week holiday in Italy. Because of my mental illnesses (grandiosely delusional psychosis and anxiety, more easily described as being ‘Crazy’ - a phrase I am comfortable with) I haven’t been away from my hometown much since about 2004. These days I am so much better though, hence the bold move to leave my hometown for three weeks. I have put in a lot of work towards getting better, especially in my anxiety, and with some good luck as well, I have considered myself to be pretty much recovered since about 2016. In 2016 I flew to Ireland for my niece’s christening and in 2017 I flew to Holland for my cousin’s wedding, despite being afraid of flying, an endeavour that has the power to shake me to the core. These two trips were successful and enjoyable though, the flying was bearable, and they made me confident that I could safely enjoy three weeks in Italy, without my fading mental health issues getting in the way.
I had a good time in Italy, we stayed at a large villa next to San Gimignano, Tuscany, for two weeks, with family, including my nieces, three and one years old. I have found looking after them therapeutic and it has made me a wiser, more confident and happier person, even though two of them at once is challenging. For our third week, my mum, auntie and uncle and I went to Lake Como for four days, then Lake Maggiore for three days, then home to Hampshire.
I am so glad I went, that I was able to go without the holiday being ruined by mental health problems. Five years ago if someone suggested a holiday, which people did a few times, the answer was a confident ‘No’. There was no way I could leave my home overnight, what if I had a panic attack? Italy was beautiful though. I was apprehensive about the flying, but that was all. We flew to Milan and stayed at the Airport hotel the first night. The flying went really well. It was only for one hour and a half, and it was smooth, in a jet powered Airbus. The next day, travelling with my mum, auntie and uncle, we got in the hired nine seater van, with manual transmission, and drove the five hour journey south to San Gimignano, about 30 miles from Florence. My uncle did a great job driving it, he usually drives an automatic car in the US and it was not a familiar experience to him. I laughed internally when we scraped against other cars on the way out of the airport car park. To begin with there were some difficult gear changes, some close calls, and lots of ‘shits’ and ‘sorry guys’ as the vehicle lurched about slightly before the driving became second nature to my uncle. The parking brake, or hand brake as we call it in England was a nuisance for the first 20 minutes or so. They don’t really use hand brakes in America as most of the cars there are automatic.
We stopped off in Parma for lunch and it was very hot and sunny, even for Italy in August. I felt comfortable in the van, amusing myself with my phone watching the GPS working on Google Maps helping to direct us southward. The roads were traffic jam free, and they sometimes wound around mountains with some spectacular scenery. We got to the Villa at about six, and it was nice. A big pool, four double bedrooms with en suite bathrooms, and it had makeshift foldaway beds, and had plenty of space for us all, 12 of us. There were wineries and vineyards dotted around the landscape, this being Chianti country, which we went to for tours and tastings, and with the villa on top of a big hill, we could see a few of them from the pool and villa grounds. The grounds were shared with lots of nine inch (nose to tail) lizards which liked to hang around basking. On the second day I saw a snake chasing one, and asked the villa owner, Vittorio, if they were dangerous. ‘Oh no’ he said.
It was quite spectacular on the villa grounds, a lovely sunny place, with a big pool, many olive trees, grapevines hanging over the two outside eating areas, a big pomegranate tree, two barbecues, and half decent Wifi, depending on how wisely we chose our bedrooms.
We took a train into Florence three times on three day trips, where I saw the Ponte Vecchio and Michelangelo’s David, two things I’d wanted to see for years. 'The David' is a classic piece of art. I like the way that when viewed from below as it is in person (it's on a large plinth and one has to look up at it) David's face is calm. However in photos and when viewed face to face you can see terror in his eyes, hardly surprising given the daunting task that laid before him.
There was good shopping in Florence too, especially if you like leather. Florence market is laden with leather stalls, with products displayed like rainbows of colourful wallets, gloves, handbags and lots more. It's easy enough to find a gelato too.
After two weeks, eight of the party - Uncle Bill, Auntie Megan, brothers, nieces, good friend and one sister in law went back to their homes in Denver - Colorado, Bristol – England, San Anselmo – California, with the rest of us to spend a week at the Italian lakes. I had had two amazing weeks at the Villa, my mental health was never an issue and I felt completely happy and comfortable there, and I had no reason to think that another week in Italy would be difficult in any way.
So we got in the nine seater van and headed for Lake Como, with a stop off at Milan Airport to change from a van to a regular car. It was at this point where I noticed my psychosis and anxieties trying to upset my happy brain. I don’t really know why, I think it had something to do with the negative emotion of having to say goodbye to some of my family, knowing it might be a while before I saw them again. My nieces and their parents lived close to my mum and I for their whole lives, but two months ago they moved to America, so the reality that I couldn’t see them for a while and have them in my life a lot began to dawn. There was nothing else I can think of that was making me anxious, although I am over sensitive to cloudy weather especially when I was used to the blazing sun. On our last day at the villa the weather turned and the next three days were cloudy with rain. The way I was feeling was like I’d forgotten to take my medication. But I wasn’t that bad really. I was feeling like I had defeated my mental health problems at least 95 % recently, but it was becoming more like 80%, so like I say it wasn’t particularly bad, I was able to keep it at bay, but for the four days staying at Bellagio on Lake Como I couldn’t relax properly. I found myself taking quite a few smoke breaks at the apartment we were staying in, 20 metres away from the lake shore.
It’s very steeply hilled at the shore of some of Lake Como, with lots of dwellings all situated very compactly, narrow roads, and not much space to just lie there and relax. Because of my mental health problems I was oversensitive to being all crammed in to the towns and felt a bit claustrophobic. To someone without mental health problems it wasn’t an issue at all. But Lake Como was strikingly attractive, from my bedroom window at the apartment I could see The Alps in the distance (I think it was The Alps, they were certainly mountains).
My first view of Lake Como was of clouds hanging over the hills, and rain, and wasn’t the piercing blue water and sunshine like I’d seen on the TV. The sun didn't come out until the fourth day. But we took some boat trips anyway, and I enjoyed them, 80 % of the time. We had some nice food at local restaurants but by this time we were getting a bit bored of pasta and pizza. We went on a hydrofoil one day which was fun, speeding along the water at 40 miles an hour.
I did start to relax more when we had packed our things and got into the car to drive to Lake Maggiore. The sunny weather had returned, and the first view of Lake Maggiore was like a postcard picture. We stayed at a hotel on the lakeshore at Stresa, and I was happy to be completely relaxed again. Lake Maggiore was not so densely populated, the hills weren’t so close to the water’s edge, and there was lots of space. We had lunch on a boat trip northwards on the lake, and crossed into Switzerland, where we took a scenic train through the mountains (which may or may not have been The Alps) back down to Stresa. We had two hours in the lake town of Lacarno in Switzerland where we saw chocolate shops and that a Big Mac in McDonalds costs about ten pounds.
Our flight home from Milan was scheduled for 12 midday, with British Airways. We arrived at the baggage check in at 9.30, at the back of a queue of 100 people. After 15 minutes we hadn’t moved so I started to worry about missing our flight. There were four desks for British Airways passengers. One of them was closed, and two of them were for business and first class passengers. I wasn’t very happy about that. As we neared the front of the queue, after an hour and a half, it became clear that we had enough time, but I was still annoyed at all the chancers trying to skip the line and use the business and first class check in. I began questioning any passengers who went to the business/first class check in. ‘Excuse me, are you business or first class passengers?’ I would say. ‘Yes, yes we are’ ‘Okay no problem, carry on.’ Twice though I asked and two separate couples were just trying their luck. ‘Excuse me, are you business or first class passengers?’ ‘No, but we have already checked in online and are just dropping off our bags’. I said ‘Yeah us too, but we have been queuing for an hour and a half now, and the back of the queue is over there ‘ There was no way I was letting anyone take advantage like that, and I was a bit stressed. I also told someone off for trying to push into the queue at one of the shops in the airport.
Though I currently can't get enough of travelling, I can't say I like flying. There are many things I love about it, the process, the planes, the airports, but I have a serious fear of heights. The journey outward was smooth, but I was angry at the turbulence on the way home. I wanted to be like normal people who are mostly comfortable when flying. I said to myself ‘never again’ in the middle of some panicky moments as we flew over Paris. I was pissed off because I wanted to enjoy it, but every time I glanced out of the window my body and soul felt more unsettled than I had ever felt in my whole life. I think I can do a short flight, but there is no way I can fly to America for example. But I got home in one piece, and it was amazing to have done it and now these happy memories and the success of meeting the challenge to leave home for three weeks will stay with me for the rest of my life.
A quick word about challenges and progression.
A few years ago I was so stricken with mental health problems that I could hardly leave the house. In 2011 I thought I’d try going back to college to learn something, as I was not doing much with my life. There is a college one minutes’ walk away from where I live, so I was happy to try, knowing that I could come home quickly if the anxiety came. I stayed at college for three years, nearly full time, taking a carpentry and joinery class, and I didn’t miss a single lesson - a first for me. It taught me so much and now I can fix things around the house and I like DIY. I have three paid part time jobs now (in 2010 I was unable to work) and two of them are as a carpenter and joiner. Since 2011 I have also passed my driving test and I now drive a lot. In 2010 I had no hope of ever being able to spend time with another person in such close proximity like being in a car with them, but I can do it now and I have driven to London lots of times. Traffic jams were a real stumbling block, but I can do them now too. Leaving town doesn’t scare me anymore either. I was afraid of train journeys, but I like them now. I can socialise however I want and am not anxious about social situations. I have taken six plane journeys in the last year, I didn’t fly for 15 years because I was afraid of flying. I have joined a gym and I work out and eat healthy. I have written a book about my experiences with mental illness, and I am currently looking for a literary agent.
I was an unfunctioning mess not so long ago, but I have met challenge after challenge and put in the work to get better, and I am the happiest I have ever been, living life to the full and often loving it. I’ve come so far and I hope that this might encourage people to keep going in their own battles. The only thing I have difficulties with these days is turbulence on aeroplanes, and sometimes even that doesn’t bother me.
There are some photos from my recent Italian holiday on the photo gallery page of this website. Click menu in the top left of this page.
I wrote this second article for a website called 'Men Tell Health'. The article is published on their website. It's a modern website run by a friendly guy and is set up to help people with their mental health by sharing wisdom, and there are many contributors like me who have shared a story or two.
Peter McDonnell – getting better and staying well.
There are certain things that are difficult, even impossible to recover in life. A word after it is said. An opportunity after it is missed. The time after it is gone. Trust after it is lost. But it is possible to recover from mental illness and recover your good mental health. But once you recover from mental illness as lots of sufferers do, you have to continue the effort to keep well, to stay recovered. Lots of us, and this has happened to me a couple of times, find ourselves feeling better for a little bit, like we have turned a corner in the fight against mental illness (I had cannabis induced psychosis with delusions of a grandiose nature, and serious panic and anxiety issues) and then we think we are on the road to recovery, but then we don’t put in the effort to keep well, and we lose the wellness and take backward steps into the depths of mental illness again. I think at some point, those of us lucky enough to feel ‘recovered’ from their mental health issues, be they serious or light, have learned that they need to keep up the effort to remain on top of things and it is necessary to do simple, small things regularly to stay in the green. I think after a while doing things (like going for a five minute jog while thinking about a nice thing, like a favourite TV programme) to stay recovered can become second nature.
I got ill in 2001, and I have considered myself recovered since about 2015. I was very unhappy and acutely unwell until about 2006, at which point I began to improve, and since then my journey has been a slow but steady one. It’s a long story. In 2016 I went on a holiday, another in 2017, I even flew on four plane journey’s, to try and get over my fear of flying (which has worked, for the most part). For many years I was unable to leave my hometown because the panic attacks would kick in. After much encouragement from family, I was able to gradually do more and more, and now in 2017 I am able to go where I like, do what I want in my spare time and I don’t panic about things anymore. It’s very nice to have recovered. But I know that I need to do things to keep myself recovered. Lots of it is second nature to me now, and it’s usually just small things to keep my brains happiness and wellness running smoothly.
A couple of years ago I had to put in more effort, to put the positive changes into action and keep them guided in the right direction until they began to guide themselves. I spent time studying other people’s methods, I read books, I went online, I spoke to various mental health professionals pressing them for information on known techniques for keeping well (they were always more than happy to help) and I attended 16 group and individual therapy sessions. Basically I put in a bit of work. I was also lucky. But here I am as happy as I have ever been in 2017, and I spend a lot of my spare time writing my book about my experiences with mental illness and overseeing my website to support it.
Here are some of the tips I have for moving towards recovery and staying recovered/keeping well.
The most recent challenge I have overcome is driving to London. About three months ago my brother who lives in Chiswick, 50 miles away, asked if I could drive up to see him and because of my learned fears about traffic jams I said no. But then it occurred to me that I was only saying no because ‘no’ is the word my brain has learned to use in such challenging situations. So I then said, knowing that I am doing so well recently, ‘Ok I’ll do it’, and I did. I enjoyed it and I have now done this particular car journey four times, last weekend I even went on the motorway. For many years I had avoided driving long distances, especially motorways because I really hate traffic jams. I used to panic when there was a queue at the McDonald’s drive thru. It was a form of claustrophobia. So I reminded myself when my brother asked me to drive instead of taking the train that these days I am more of a ‘yes man’ and I just said yes. I have now learned that driving is as much fun as the train and a lot easier.
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This next article was published on a website called 'Men for Mental Health'. Its a similar website to 'Men Tell Health's website, a useful platform for men like me that want to share our stories and also to try and help the situation of mental illness by communication, understanding and support.
Psychosis humour
Hi my name is Peter and I became mentally ill in 2001.
Though now recovered, between 2001 and 2005 I was in and out of mental hospitals with Cannabis induced psychosis and grandiose delusions. Some of my delusions were quite funny. I don’t want to detract from the general serious nature of mental illness, but having lots of stories about my often humorous activities to write about is never anything less than a genuine pleasure. I think the right thing to do is to share them.
Pregnancy
In December 2002 I found myself detained on a mental health ward with delusional psychosis for the second time. My delusions were centred around thinking that I was the second coming of Jesus Christ and that I had telepathic abilities. Being Jesus, I talked to God a lot. I can remember being in my small room at Parklands Hospital in Basingstoke, Hampshire, one day, feeling bored, with my unconscious mind looking for some stimulation. I noticed a stain on my wall, in the corner by the skirting board that was oddly shaped in a black and white pattern, black dots, looking a bit like frogspawn. I thought nothing of it until later that afternoon when I noticed another pattern of dirt elsewhere on the ward that looked a lot like the first one, only bigger, about twice as big. Then later on that day, probably on some peeling wallpaper somewhere else on the ward there was another pattern just like the first two, but bigger once again. They looked like clusters of human cells, like what a very early foetus might look like. They seemed to be growing too. Something seemed to be saying to me that I was somehow pregnant. Lots of things are possible when you are quite mad, and believe that God is real and able to do anything. Fortunately by the next day I was no longer thinking about whether I might have been impregnated by God, and I have not since thought about it again.
Aliens
Halloween 2002 I was living at my Dads house. He was a psychiatric nurse, and my mum trained as one too back in the day, they both worked at a place called Holloway Sanatorium in the 70s. Them knowing about the world of mental illness and the best way to nurse their son back to health is one of the things that contributed to me being eventually able to recover. My mum told me about a patient at Holloway once who was brought into the sanatorium at age 15 because she was pregnant outside of marriage, an issue of shame for some back then. There were some patients bought in simply because they were not living a ‘normal’ life. Apparently this girl never again left the sanatorium and died there a fairly old woman. She was not mentally ill. I am so lucky I was not unwell a generation or two earlier, care for the mentally ill has come on so much since then. Anyway, Aliens. On Halloween In 2002 I was watching the night sky when I noticed that if you stared at planes flying high overhead for long enough your eyes could play tricks and the airplane’s lights seemed to jump around slightly in erratic and impossible movements, and it also seemed like they were not blinking, but only seemed to be because they were coming in and out of view revolving quickly around a circular aircraft. So I thought they were flying saucers. I was genuinely excited – I had found extra-terrestrial life! I tried using telepathy to talk to them, convinced it was real. I was urging them to stay, but they always flew away over the horizon. I watched the sky until morning, and for the next six months or so I was adamant that aliens were very much among us, though fortunately this new and unique knowledge I had never made me want to do something silly like go and stand on a mountain top and wait for abduction.
The Ritz
In December 2001, while seriously and acutely unwell, I thought I had a special telepathic connection with a mystery person. I nicknamed her ‘Britney’. I didn’t know who she was, I had never met her, but I was sure that she existed on planet Earth somewhere. I felt that she could hear my thoughts, and that I was destined to meet her. It was pretty much like having an imaginary friend. I spent many hours talking to her and it just felt right, very real and not a delusion or hallucination. One day I decided it was time to meet her. I looked around for a magical source to tell me when and where to meet with her. I turned on my TV and as I did there was a feature about The Ritz Hotel in London, and the number ‘213’ moved randomly into my mind’s eye. Where I lived was a 50 mile train journey to the Ritz, so no reason not to, I would depart immediately.
I soon boarded the worst railway carriage I’d ever seen, in need of a good scrub or outright replacement. I got off at Waterloo station in London, wearing my roller skates with a shoe in each hand, and skated to The Ritz, using God’s instruction to me as to the route. If I saw a road sign that stood out to me I would follow it. I arrived at The Ritz nearly two hours later, and rolled straight in, still wearing my roller blades, dressed in tatty clothing, and queued up at reception in a line of smartly dressed wealthy looking people. I think there is an actual dress code at The Ritz. When I got to the front of the queue I calmly asked the desk clerk “Can you tell me which room Britney is in please” she replied “I’m sorry sir we don’t have a reservation for anyone of that name”. I decided I should have a look around for myself, so I left the desk clerk to call security, and I walked up the grand staircase, sideways, as I still had on my rollerblades. I found room 213, knocked and a cleaner answered, who didn’t speak English, but I could see there was nobody in this large room. I needed the loo, so I did that, then went to reception with the plan of double checking that my imaginary friend wasn’t on the list. Then the security man found me and held me by the arm and escorted me to the exit. I skated back to Waterloo Station, almost flooring a lady with a broken leg who was using crutches on a busy street, as I got over confident on my skates, and took a train home, and returned safely back home soon after. I will always remember my brief visit to The Ritz Hotel in December 2001.
I have plans with more websites to have articles published. When they are up I will add them here.
I wrote this first article about Italy for a website called 'Gum on My Shoe'. 'Gum on My Shoe' is run by a Facebook friend of mine who has published a book recently called 'High Tide, Low Tide: The Caring Friends Guide to Bipolar Disorder'. I have added one or two changes (improvements?) to the article as it appears on Gum on My Shoe.
'Taking my mental illnesses to Italy for a holiday' by Peter McDonnell
Last week I returned from a three week holiday in Italy. Because of my mental illnesses (grandiosely delusional psychosis and anxiety, more easily described as being ‘Crazy’ - a phrase I am comfortable with) I haven’t been away from my hometown much since about 2004. These days I am so much better though, hence the bold move to leave my hometown for three weeks. I have put in a lot of work towards getting better, especially in my anxiety, and with some good luck as well, I have considered myself to be pretty much recovered since about 2016. In 2016 I flew to Ireland for my niece’s christening and in 2017 I flew to Holland for my cousin’s wedding, despite being afraid of flying, an endeavour that has the power to shake me to the core. These two trips were successful and enjoyable though, the flying was bearable, and they made me confident that I could safely enjoy three weeks in Italy, without my fading mental health issues getting in the way.
I had a good time in Italy, we stayed at a large villa next to San Gimignano, Tuscany, for two weeks, with family, including my nieces, three and one years old. I have found looking after them therapeutic and it has made me a wiser, more confident and happier person, even though two of them at once is challenging. For our third week, my mum, auntie and uncle and I went to Lake Como for four days, then Lake Maggiore for three days, then home to Hampshire.
I am so glad I went, that I was able to go without the holiday being ruined by mental health problems. Five years ago if someone suggested a holiday, which people did a few times, the answer was a confident ‘No’. There was no way I could leave my home overnight, what if I had a panic attack? Italy was beautiful though. I was apprehensive about the flying, but that was all. We flew to Milan and stayed at the Airport hotel the first night. The flying went really well. It was only for one hour and a half, and it was smooth, in a jet powered Airbus. The next day, travelling with my mum, auntie and uncle, we got in the hired nine seater van, with manual transmission, and drove the five hour journey south to San Gimignano, about 30 miles from Florence. My uncle did a great job driving it, he usually drives an automatic car in the US and it was not a familiar experience to him. I laughed internally when we scraped against other cars on the way out of the airport car park. To begin with there were some difficult gear changes, some close calls, and lots of ‘shits’ and ‘sorry guys’ as the vehicle lurched about slightly before the driving became second nature to my uncle. The parking brake, or hand brake as we call it in England was a nuisance for the first 20 minutes or so. They don’t really use hand brakes in America as most of the cars there are automatic.
We stopped off in Parma for lunch and it was very hot and sunny, even for Italy in August. I felt comfortable in the van, amusing myself with my phone watching the GPS working on Google Maps helping to direct us southward. The roads were traffic jam free, and they sometimes wound around mountains with some spectacular scenery. We got to the Villa at about six, and it was nice. A big pool, four double bedrooms with en suite bathrooms, and it had makeshift foldaway beds, and had plenty of space for us all, 12 of us. There were wineries and vineyards dotted around the landscape, this being Chianti country, which we went to for tours and tastings, and with the villa on top of a big hill, we could see a few of them from the pool and villa grounds. The grounds were shared with lots of nine inch (nose to tail) lizards which liked to hang around basking. On the second day I saw a snake chasing one, and asked the villa owner, Vittorio, if they were dangerous. ‘Oh no’ he said.
It was quite spectacular on the villa grounds, a lovely sunny place, with a big pool, many olive trees, grapevines hanging over the two outside eating areas, a big pomegranate tree, two barbecues, and half decent Wifi, depending on how wisely we chose our bedrooms.
We took a train into Florence three times on three day trips, where I saw the Ponte Vecchio and Michelangelo’s David, two things I’d wanted to see for years. 'The David' is a classic piece of art. I like the way that when viewed from below as it is in person (it's on a large plinth and one has to look up at it) David's face is calm. However in photos and when viewed face to face you can see terror in his eyes, hardly surprising given the daunting task that laid before him.
There was good shopping in Florence too, especially if you like leather. Florence market is laden with leather stalls, with products displayed like rainbows of colourful wallets, gloves, handbags and lots more. It's easy enough to find a gelato too.
After two weeks, eight of the party - Uncle Bill, Auntie Megan, brothers, nieces, good friend and one sister in law went back to their homes in Denver - Colorado, Bristol – England, San Anselmo – California, with the rest of us to spend a week at the Italian lakes. I had had two amazing weeks at the Villa, my mental health was never an issue and I felt completely happy and comfortable there, and I had no reason to think that another week in Italy would be difficult in any way.
So we got in the nine seater van and headed for Lake Como, with a stop off at Milan Airport to change from a van to a regular car. It was at this point where I noticed my psychosis and anxieties trying to upset my happy brain. I don’t really know why, I think it had something to do with the negative emotion of having to say goodbye to some of my family, knowing it might be a while before I saw them again. My nieces and their parents lived close to my mum and I for their whole lives, but two months ago they moved to America, so the reality that I couldn’t see them for a while and have them in my life a lot began to dawn. There was nothing else I can think of that was making me anxious, although I am over sensitive to cloudy weather especially when I was used to the blazing sun. On our last day at the villa the weather turned and the next three days were cloudy with rain. The way I was feeling was like I’d forgotten to take my medication. But I wasn’t that bad really. I was feeling like I had defeated my mental health problems at least 95 % recently, but it was becoming more like 80%, so like I say it wasn’t particularly bad, I was able to keep it at bay, but for the four days staying at Bellagio on Lake Como I couldn’t relax properly. I found myself taking quite a few smoke breaks at the apartment we were staying in, 20 metres away from the lake shore.
It’s very steeply hilled at the shore of some of Lake Como, with lots of dwellings all situated very compactly, narrow roads, and not much space to just lie there and relax. Because of my mental health problems I was oversensitive to being all crammed in to the towns and felt a bit claustrophobic. To someone without mental health problems it wasn’t an issue at all. But Lake Como was strikingly attractive, from my bedroom window at the apartment I could see The Alps in the distance (I think it was The Alps, they were certainly mountains).
My first view of Lake Como was of clouds hanging over the hills, and rain, and wasn’t the piercing blue water and sunshine like I’d seen on the TV. The sun didn't come out until the fourth day. But we took some boat trips anyway, and I enjoyed them, 80 % of the time. We had some nice food at local restaurants but by this time we were getting a bit bored of pasta and pizza. We went on a hydrofoil one day which was fun, speeding along the water at 40 miles an hour.
I did start to relax more when we had packed our things and got into the car to drive to Lake Maggiore. The sunny weather had returned, and the first view of Lake Maggiore was like a postcard picture. We stayed at a hotel on the lakeshore at Stresa, and I was happy to be completely relaxed again. Lake Maggiore was not so densely populated, the hills weren’t so close to the water’s edge, and there was lots of space. We had lunch on a boat trip northwards on the lake, and crossed into Switzerland, where we took a scenic train through the mountains (which may or may not have been The Alps) back down to Stresa. We had two hours in the lake town of Lacarno in Switzerland where we saw chocolate shops and that a Big Mac in McDonalds costs about ten pounds.
Our flight home from Milan was scheduled for 12 midday, with British Airways. We arrived at the baggage check in at 9.30, at the back of a queue of 100 people. After 15 minutes we hadn’t moved so I started to worry about missing our flight. There were four desks for British Airways passengers. One of them was closed, and two of them were for business and first class passengers. I wasn’t very happy about that. As we neared the front of the queue, after an hour and a half, it became clear that we had enough time, but I was still annoyed at all the chancers trying to skip the line and use the business and first class check in. I began questioning any passengers who went to the business/first class check in. ‘Excuse me, are you business or first class passengers?’ I would say. ‘Yes, yes we are’ ‘Okay no problem, carry on.’ Twice though I asked and two separate couples were just trying their luck. ‘Excuse me, are you business or first class passengers?’ ‘No, but we have already checked in online and are just dropping off our bags’. I said ‘Yeah us too, but we have been queuing for an hour and a half now, and the back of the queue is over there ‘ There was no way I was letting anyone take advantage like that, and I was a bit stressed. I also told someone off for trying to push into the queue at one of the shops in the airport.
Though I currently can't get enough of travelling, I can't say I like flying. There are many things I love about it, the process, the planes, the airports, but I have a serious fear of heights. The journey outward was smooth, but I was angry at the turbulence on the way home. I wanted to be like normal people who are mostly comfortable when flying. I said to myself ‘never again’ in the middle of some panicky moments as we flew over Paris. I was pissed off because I wanted to enjoy it, but every time I glanced out of the window my body and soul felt more unsettled than I had ever felt in my whole life. I think I can do a short flight, but there is no way I can fly to America for example. But I got home in one piece, and it was amazing to have done it and now these happy memories and the success of meeting the challenge to leave home for three weeks will stay with me for the rest of my life.
A quick word about challenges and progression.
A few years ago I was so stricken with mental health problems that I could hardly leave the house. In 2011 I thought I’d try going back to college to learn something, as I was not doing much with my life. There is a college one minutes’ walk away from where I live, so I was happy to try, knowing that I could come home quickly if the anxiety came. I stayed at college for three years, nearly full time, taking a carpentry and joinery class, and I didn’t miss a single lesson - a first for me. It taught me so much and now I can fix things around the house and I like DIY. I have three paid part time jobs now (in 2010 I was unable to work) and two of them are as a carpenter and joiner. Since 2011 I have also passed my driving test and I now drive a lot. In 2010 I had no hope of ever being able to spend time with another person in such close proximity like being in a car with them, but I can do it now and I have driven to London lots of times. Traffic jams were a real stumbling block, but I can do them now too. Leaving town doesn’t scare me anymore either. I was afraid of train journeys, but I like them now. I can socialise however I want and am not anxious about social situations. I have taken six plane journeys in the last year, I didn’t fly for 15 years because I was afraid of flying. I have joined a gym and I work out and eat healthy. I have written a book about my experiences with mental illness, and I am currently looking for a literary agent.
I was an unfunctioning mess not so long ago, but I have met challenge after challenge and put in the work to get better, and I am the happiest I have ever been, living life to the full and often loving it. I’ve come so far and I hope that this might encourage people to keep going in their own battles. The only thing I have difficulties with these days is turbulence on aeroplanes, and sometimes even that doesn’t bother me.
There are some photos from my recent Italian holiday on the photo gallery page of this website. Click menu in the top left of this page.
I wrote this second article for a website called 'Men Tell Health'. The article is published on their website. It's a modern website run by a friendly guy and is set up to help people with their mental health by sharing wisdom, and there are many contributors like me who have shared a story or two.
Peter McDonnell – getting better and staying well.
There are certain things that are difficult, even impossible to recover in life. A word after it is said. An opportunity after it is missed. The time after it is gone. Trust after it is lost. But it is possible to recover from mental illness and recover your good mental health. But once you recover from mental illness as lots of sufferers do, you have to continue the effort to keep well, to stay recovered. Lots of us, and this has happened to me a couple of times, find ourselves feeling better for a little bit, like we have turned a corner in the fight against mental illness (I had cannabis induced psychosis with delusions of a grandiose nature, and serious panic and anxiety issues) and then we think we are on the road to recovery, but then we don’t put in the effort to keep well, and we lose the wellness and take backward steps into the depths of mental illness again. I think at some point, those of us lucky enough to feel ‘recovered’ from their mental health issues, be they serious or light, have learned that they need to keep up the effort to remain on top of things and it is necessary to do simple, small things regularly to stay in the green. I think after a while doing things (like going for a five minute jog while thinking about a nice thing, like a favourite TV programme) to stay recovered can become second nature.
I got ill in 2001, and I have considered myself recovered since about 2015. I was very unhappy and acutely unwell until about 2006, at which point I began to improve, and since then my journey has been a slow but steady one. It’s a long story. In 2016 I went on a holiday, another in 2017, I even flew on four plane journey’s, to try and get over my fear of flying (which has worked, for the most part). For many years I was unable to leave my hometown because the panic attacks would kick in. After much encouragement from family, I was able to gradually do more and more, and now in 2017 I am able to go where I like, do what I want in my spare time and I don’t panic about things anymore. It’s very nice to have recovered. But I know that I need to do things to keep myself recovered. Lots of it is second nature to me now, and it’s usually just small things to keep my brains happiness and wellness running smoothly.
A couple of years ago I had to put in more effort, to put the positive changes into action and keep them guided in the right direction until they began to guide themselves. I spent time studying other people’s methods, I read books, I went online, I spoke to various mental health professionals pressing them for information on known techniques for keeping well (they were always more than happy to help) and I attended 16 group and individual therapy sessions. Basically I put in a bit of work. I was also lucky. But here I am as happy as I have ever been in 2017, and I spend a lot of my spare time writing my book about my experiences with mental illness and overseeing my website to support it.
Here are some of the tips I have for moving towards recovery and staying recovered/keeping well.
- Put in a bit of work. That doesn’t mean spend hours each day on it, just be mindful about picking up helpful tips here and there, you will probably be inspired and find some things that work for you.
- Seek help. There is nothing wrong with asking friends and family for advice now and then on what they think might help some of the problems you have or might help maintain your happiness. I am never embarrassed to discuss what is going on in my head, and talking to others about things is something I genuinely enjoy. There are also lots of professional services, therapists can be very useful, and you can usually find some on the NHS for free, though you might have to wait for a month or two to get seen (though maybe not).
- Practise ‘mindfulness’. Google it, read about it and understand what it is. It is a strong technique that people all over the world use and I have personally found it very useful.
- Make time to do things that you enjoy. Seek to make yourself smile. I remember when I was quite unwell, in about 2007, I had hardly anything that made me happy, but one thing that did make me laugh and smile was watching ‘The Simpsons’ on TV. I remembered to watch it when it was on, and I have built up from there. I have a few things that I do to make myself smile in 2017, I enjoy woodworking, I like going to the gym, I’ve recently begun to enjoy travelling on trains and planes so I try to do that, in six weeks I am flying to Italy for a holiday and I am looking forward to it.
- If you don’t have a job because of mental illness (like me for a while) reconsider whether you might be able to do one. There is the option of voluntary work which is usually very stress free in quiet environments and though unpaid it is quite beneficial. Honestly in 2006 I was unable to do work, but it was suggested I might like to try some voluntary work, so I did, for 30 minutes a day at first at a charity shop, and I built up from that. Mental health professionals have always told me how having a job is good for mental health and is also good for maintaining wellness and that wonderful feeling of being recovered.
- Keep your living space tidy. It really does make a difference to me, many people will say ‘Tidy house, tidy mind’ and it just seems to allow a person to think more positively and clearly. I think if there was a case of twins with exactly the same mental health issues, one twin living in a mess and the other in a tidy environment, the twin living in the clean and tidy space would do better than the one living in a mess.
- Reward yourself for making it through tough times or being successful in maintaining good mental health. Get the brand new phone and enjoy it. Buy a nice pair of trainers. Enjoy a 20 pound bottle of wine now and then. Don’t be silly and spend what you can’t afford of course.
- Train your brain to be positive. This can be a tricky one, and perhaps too difficult for those who are seriously unwell, but it is worth pursuing. A few years ago I decided to challenge the learned negative thinking patterns, if I was invited to go travelling to see family in London or invited out to a restaurant for dinner my initial thought was ‘I have anxiety problems so I will probably not enjoy it.’ I then began saying to myself ‘Anxious thinking is an old thinking style, these days I am much better’. I spent some time trying to solidify positive thinking patterns so that eventually my brain would learn to work with the new positive thinking and forget the old anxious thinking. It was a change that took about a year to start working automatically, but now when I have such invitations, my first thought is not about how anxious I might feel. People might say to me ‘Do you want to go out for lunch’ and I say ‘yes’. Saying ‘no’ is the old thinking at work, and that’s not me anymore.
The most recent challenge I have overcome is driving to London. About three months ago my brother who lives in Chiswick, 50 miles away, asked if I could drive up to see him and because of my learned fears about traffic jams I said no. But then it occurred to me that I was only saying no because ‘no’ is the word my brain has learned to use in such challenging situations. So I then said, knowing that I am doing so well recently, ‘Ok I’ll do it’, and I did. I enjoyed it and I have now done this particular car journey four times, last weekend I even went on the motorway. For many years I had avoided driving long distances, especially motorways because I really hate traffic jams. I used to panic when there was a queue at the McDonald’s drive thru. It was a form of claustrophobia. So I reminded myself when my brother asked me to drive instead of taking the train that these days I am more of a ‘yes man’ and I just said yes. I have now learned that driving is as much fun as the train and a lot easier.
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This next article was published on a website called 'Men for Mental Health'. Its a similar website to 'Men Tell Health's website, a useful platform for men like me that want to share our stories and also to try and help the situation of mental illness by communication, understanding and support.
Psychosis humour
Hi my name is Peter and I became mentally ill in 2001.
Though now recovered, between 2001 and 2005 I was in and out of mental hospitals with Cannabis induced psychosis and grandiose delusions. Some of my delusions were quite funny. I don’t want to detract from the general serious nature of mental illness, but having lots of stories about my often humorous activities to write about is never anything less than a genuine pleasure. I think the right thing to do is to share them.
Pregnancy
In December 2002 I found myself detained on a mental health ward with delusional psychosis for the second time. My delusions were centred around thinking that I was the second coming of Jesus Christ and that I had telepathic abilities. Being Jesus, I talked to God a lot. I can remember being in my small room at Parklands Hospital in Basingstoke, Hampshire, one day, feeling bored, with my unconscious mind looking for some stimulation. I noticed a stain on my wall, in the corner by the skirting board that was oddly shaped in a black and white pattern, black dots, looking a bit like frogspawn. I thought nothing of it until later that afternoon when I noticed another pattern of dirt elsewhere on the ward that looked a lot like the first one, only bigger, about twice as big. Then later on that day, probably on some peeling wallpaper somewhere else on the ward there was another pattern just like the first two, but bigger once again. They looked like clusters of human cells, like what a very early foetus might look like. They seemed to be growing too. Something seemed to be saying to me that I was somehow pregnant. Lots of things are possible when you are quite mad, and believe that God is real and able to do anything. Fortunately by the next day I was no longer thinking about whether I might have been impregnated by God, and I have not since thought about it again.
Aliens
Halloween 2002 I was living at my Dads house. He was a psychiatric nurse, and my mum trained as one too back in the day, they both worked at a place called Holloway Sanatorium in the 70s. Them knowing about the world of mental illness and the best way to nurse their son back to health is one of the things that contributed to me being eventually able to recover. My mum told me about a patient at Holloway once who was brought into the sanatorium at age 15 because she was pregnant outside of marriage, an issue of shame for some back then. There were some patients bought in simply because they were not living a ‘normal’ life. Apparently this girl never again left the sanatorium and died there a fairly old woman. She was not mentally ill. I am so lucky I was not unwell a generation or two earlier, care for the mentally ill has come on so much since then. Anyway, Aliens. On Halloween In 2002 I was watching the night sky when I noticed that if you stared at planes flying high overhead for long enough your eyes could play tricks and the airplane’s lights seemed to jump around slightly in erratic and impossible movements, and it also seemed like they were not blinking, but only seemed to be because they were coming in and out of view revolving quickly around a circular aircraft. So I thought they were flying saucers. I was genuinely excited – I had found extra-terrestrial life! I tried using telepathy to talk to them, convinced it was real. I was urging them to stay, but they always flew away over the horizon. I watched the sky until morning, and for the next six months or so I was adamant that aliens were very much among us, though fortunately this new and unique knowledge I had never made me want to do something silly like go and stand on a mountain top and wait for abduction.
The Ritz
In December 2001, while seriously and acutely unwell, I thought I had a special telepathic connection with a mystery person. I nicknamed her ‘Britney’. I didn’t know who she was, I had never met her, but I was sure that she existed on planet Earth somewhere. I felt that she could hear my thoughts, and that I was destined to meet her. It was pretty much like having an imaginary friend. I spent many hours talking to her and it just felt right, very real and not a delusion or hallucination. One day I decided it was time to meet her. I looked around for a magical source to tell me when and where to meet with her. I turned on my TV and as I did there was a feature about The Ritz Hotel in London, and the number ‘213’ moved randomly into my mind’s eye. Where I lived was a 50 mile train journey to the Ritz, so no reason not to, I would depart immediately.
I soon boarded the worst railway carriage I’d ever seen, in need of a good scrub or outright replacement. I got off at Waterloo station in London, wearing my roller skates with a shoe in each hand, and skated to The Ritz, using God’s instruction to me as to the route. If I saw a road sign that stood out to me I would follow it. I arrived at The Ritz nearly two hours later, and rolled straight in, still wearing my roller blades, dressed in tatty clothing, and queued up at reception in a line of smartly dressed wealthy looking people. I think there is an actual dress code at The Ritz. When I got to the front of the queue I calmly asked the desk clerk “Can you tell me which room Britney is in please” she replied “I’m sorry sir we don’t have a reservation for anyone of that name”. I decided I should have a look around for myself, so I left the desk clerk to call security, and I walked up the grand staircase, sideways, as I still had on my rollerblades. I found room 213, knocked and a cleaner answered, who didn’t speak English, but I could see there was nobody in this large room. I needed the loo, so I did that, then went to reception with the plan of double checking that my imaginary friend wasn’t on the list. Then the security man found me and held me by the arm and escorted me to the exit. I skated back to Waterloo Station, almost flooring a lady with a broken leg who was using crutches on a busy street, as I got over confident on my skates, and took a train home, and returned safely back home soon after. I will always remember my brief visit to The Ritz Hotel in December 2001.
I have plans with more websites to have articles published. When they are up I will add them here.
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