Trigger warning: this piece discusses themes of depression, hospitalisation, suicide and suicidal ideation.
Kia ora koutou,
This is a story which began in 2019. In my professional life, I am an Investigator in the public sector. In my spare time, I am a rugby referee for the province I live in. I am in my 15th season of refereeing.
I am known as the referee who shares my mental health story in rugby clubrooms, after refereeing, school staff rooms, recovery churches, and secondary school classes, I make no apologies for that. I have shared my story in 20 clubroom settings since May 2023. A story of despair to one of hope.
In 2019, I was initially, and mistakenly, prognosed with motor neurone disease. I knew regardless, whatever it was, it was bad, and I faced an uncertain future. I could barely walk; if I ran, I fell over. Refereeing rugby was out of the question. I was told I'd never referee again.
Refereeing was my time to myself, away from many other things that would demand my time, including my family, my job, my business interests, my church and other sporting interests. When I discovered I could not referee, the black dog of depression hit me. I had a breakdown. I had no previous history of mental illness and would consider myself high-functioning.
I was at a nice stage of my life; financially independent, owned a lovely home, our children had successfully launched into adulthood, we'd travelled extensively, and I was looking forward to becoming a new grandfather. To be honest, I was a bit of a cynic when it came to mental health. I mean I was brought up on a dairy farm. I’ve been around land most of my life and, 'You just got on with it unseen.'
Because of the breakdown, I had to give up other things that people identified me with. Each thing given up was like a nail in the coffin. I thought that I was letting people down who depended on me and I was losing things people identified me with.
It was easily the scariest time of my life; my brain went into shock. In some very dark days, I went almost catatonic, I wouldn't answer the door or phone. I had tapped out into a deep dark abyss. I had lost the will to live and acted upon it. It was the scariest and most humiliating day of my life.
I was sectioned under the Mental Health Act to a secure mental health unit for over a month. There were days I thought I would never get out of that place. I thought that I didn't fit the other client’s profiles. Unlike some of my fellow ‘inmates’ I did not suffer from addiction issues nor had a complex personality disorder. I was ‘imprisoned’ within the facility and my rights were in the hands of others. I thought I didn't belong there. I did belong. I just took a while to work it out. I used to look out the windows of the acute mental health unit and see the hospital workers walking to work in the distance. I wished so much that was me.
Why do I talk about mental health and well-being? Because silence cures nothing.
I need to tell you that mental illness is a real thing. There are some really important conversations to be had. We struggle with it, especially men. Mental illness is not sexist, ageist, or any other ‘-ist.’ It can affect us all. I am proof of that.
Is it even important that I share my story? It is important because sufferers need to know they are not alone. No one genuinely wants to be alone. There are others who have been through it and I am proof that you can come through it. It took me four years to return to refereeing in 2023; two years of it was physical and two years of it was mental.
I want to say that there is hope and the hope is actually talking about it. Our silence meant that on average, three people took their own lives every weekend in New Zealand in 2023. I find this statistic appalling.
Apart from my own province, I have spoken in three others after refereeing provinces. The great bastion of rugby in New Zealand is far from exempt from mental illness, which hunts and takes out the young, especially young men.
Finally, we need to look out for each other and not be afraid to ask the hard questions of each other.
We have to do better.
Kia kaha.
-Peter
Voices of Hope wants you to know that you do not have to do this alone. Click here to 'find help' - it's not weak to speak!