Ashton Brown thought he was untouchable but woke up one day and something was different. He explains why it’s time to finally share his demons.
Listen to the story as it was told at The Watercooler storytelling night or read on. (WARNING: This story includes frank discussion of suicide. If you, or someone you know is struggling, help is available.)
I'm going to exercise some demons.
A lot of these words were written over the last 10 years, but they always felt a bit too taboo to talk about. So this seems like the time to finally share these demons, spank them in public and then send them on their way.
I used to think I was pretty freaking untouchable. I was raised in a nice upper middle-class Christian family, went to a nice, expensive private school, succeeded academically and, believe it or not, I even did pretty well at sport. I was a head prefect, always had a girlfriend, and was always the centre of attention. When I turned 18 things were pretty damn awesome for me.
My taboo tale isn't about arrogance, but this backstory is important to what I'm going to talk about.
I finished high school and had successfully applied to be a GAP student working at one of the most prestigious high schools in England. I had this belief instilled in me my whole life that if I put faith in myself and in my God then I would get all the things I wanted and achieve all the things I wanted to achieve. And so far this illusion had been upheld and I had no reason to not believe it.
The school I worked at in England had about eight or so other boys from Australia and South Africa who also were partaking in GAP years. And they were into drinking. And lots of it. I was not. At all. I spent the first few weeks, maybe even months, sitting in my room listening to the boys getting drunk, crying for home and wondering what the hell I was doing. I missed home, my girlfriend, my family and my friends. So during the evening I would sleep. And cry. Me. Cry. I know.
Eventually I “adapted” to the lifestyle in England. By this I mean I sold myself short. I went against my views on getting fucked up and partying and began to drink often and lots. I would play drinking games, get so drunk I couldn’t remember what happened, go in a car with a drunk driver, wander around town on my own in the middle of the night blind drunk, and get into the odd fight.
I gave up my lifestyle from home so I didn’t disappoint the people I was living with, but in doing so I disappointed the people that meant most to me.
It seemed so much easier just being like everyone else. I didn’t have to make excuses for not wanting to go out and drink. I didn’t have to hide when people came to pressure me into going out. I didn’t have to feel left out when I heard about the awesome night everyone else had. I was one of the boys. And I loved it.
I gave up my lifestyle from home so I didn’t disappoint the people I was living with, but in doing so I disappointed the people that meant most to me.
I woke up one day when I was about three-quarters of the way through my GAP year and something was different. Something had changed and, although it was nearly 10 years ago, I remember that day vividly. It was the day I had changed. There was nothing special about the day itself or the night before. The only thing that had changed was me. In early September, I wrote a diary entry.
Diary of a Madman
Over the past few months, in particular, I fear I have been guilty of taking life for granted and what I fear more than anything is that I am now paying the price for my reluctance to take the gift of life and treat it as the precious gift it is. Even if I were to put aside the painful amount of alcohol I have consumed this year, I still have a lot to regret and this is my confession. My plea to God, to make me feel whole again, happy again but above all…normal again.
These holidays I dabbled with ecstasy. Now part of my fear is I’ll never be the same again. My over confidence in trying mind altering substances has, I fear, gotten the best of me. It started with a couple of tabs and then some MDMA. In fact that’s all it was. I have done it five times in total, once not receiving a trip. Although my the amount I had compared to other partiers is very minute, I still know I have let myself and all I stand for down.
Night before last I drunk a ridiculous amount of alcohol and was blind drunk. The next day I felt different. Not hungover different, but different in my head. A feeling of depression, paranoia and uncomfortable nervousness came over me and now a day later, I feel very similar.
I struggled to sleep, I get nervous when alone and I want to feel normal again.
Maybe [this is] my body’s way of saying “too much”, or God telling me I’ve pushed it. Sad to say I’ve learnt my lesson. I pray to return to the Ashton I was and now I know I never want to take things for granted again. Ever. I am so sorry God. Please return my feeling of normality. Please. Forever sorry.
So as term began things started happening to me and my brain that I did not understand. I spent a lot of time lost in my head with thoughts that I had never had before. There were voices telling me that people were thinking about me. I couldn’t be surrounded by anyone. I just sat in my room. The thoughts wouldn’t leave. I tried to convince myself that things were getting better, but I knew they weren’t.
So I prayed. Oh, how I prayed. I prayed for hours and hours. Prayed for forgiveness. Prayed for healing. Prayed to keep living. Prayed for another chance. Prayed out of fear. Prayed for hope. Prayed for an answer.
I read the Bible. I read chapters that were relevant and irrelevant. I wrote verses down. I drew religious pictures. I took down the “evil” things off my walls like pictures of scantily clad women and Ibiza posters. I hid everything that reminded me of drugs. But nothing seemed to help. I couldn’t shake the thoughts of going crazy. Prayer didn’t help, sleeping didn’t help, nothing helped. But I still kept my belief. I kept my trust in the Lord.
If God was real then why was he doing this to me? What more did I have to do? Did I really behave so terribly that I deserve to feel this pain?
I tried exercising and eating healthy. I lost weight. I put on weight. I’d get up in the night and run, attempting to run away from myself. I pelted through the night crying in agony, lost, cold and completely alone.
I needed help, yet I was sure I was beyond help. I was in a stage of hopelessness. I was going to die. I was kept awake night after night thinking, “tonight I am definitely going to die. I am never going to see my friends and family again. Never going to have a family. Never going to see home again.” I had anxious thoughts about death and eternity. I was thinking about how humans are only a brain in a shell, and asking myself where my thoughts come from. Who controls me? Where was God?
I found bible verses to take solace in. I justified to myself that what I was going through was a learning experience that God was putting me through. My thoughts just went around in circles. Some days I found solace in my religion and the bible and other days the same thoughts of going mental and dying returned. I felt that no matter how hard I tried to be faithful, I just wasn’t being heard.
I began to break. If God was real then why was he doing this to me? What more did I have to do? Did I really behave so terribly that I deserve to feel this pain? I began to doubt. But part of me clung on to my belief as if it was all I had left of who I was.
I thought I was going to die. I was so consumed by the fear of death some nights that I began to think that perhaps it was the easiest way to go. But I was so scared of never seeing my family again.
I began to believe that I couldn’t go through this on my own. That I wouldn’t get through this on my own. And that thought scared me more than anything. These thoughts were too taboo. This was my fault. This was a punishment. I couldn't share this with anyone.
I continued to seesaw. I never felt great, but I felt like I could do it. Like I could survive. I tried everything to get better. I thought maybe if I passed this test then I deserved to get better. So I convinced myself I was changing. That I was bettering myself. That I needed to change who I was to get better, because at that moment, I just didn’t deserve to be well.
Did I really believe God was listening or was I simply scared that if he was and I didn’t give him the time of day then I would be punished even more? I don’t know.
Dare I not believe in God? What if he is real and I lose my faith and this never ends?
I was too scared to stop believing in him. Even if in my heart I couldn’t believe.
I was diagnosed with sleep deprivation. Still the root of the problem was being swept under the carpet. There was no one wanting to talk about it or acknowledge it or look it in the face. Although, admittedly, it came as a slight relief to be diagnosed with something.
Dare I not believe in God? What if he is real and I lose my faith and this never ends?
What I needed was help.
I needed to talk to someone, so I emailed my Dad. I told him that I really hadn’t been well and I had been spending a lot of time crying and in pain. Like I didn’t know what was going on. He called me that night and I cried and we talked. I then called him every night for the next week or so crying. Mum and Dad didn’t know what to do. They didn’t know how to help. Talking to them made me feel so much better but the conversations always had to end. I always had to go back to being alone.
It was amazing how easily I could convince myself I was getting better simply because my brain could not handle admitting to the pain and depression. I covered it up by pretending to be positive, but deep down I wasn’t getting to the core of the problem. I didn’t even know what the core of the problem was.
Eventually I got sent home. I had admitted defeat and I knew I couldn't heal where I was. I was greeted by a loving family and friends. A lot of people just didn't want to talk about it though. It was too hard for them and for me.
Over the next few months I continued to decline. I was medicated. I tried desperately to hold onto my faith out of fear - the faith that had eventuated in leaving me feeling guilty and deserving for what I was going through.
Diary Entry – 11th November
I am on 2 anti-depressants a day now.
I think I am dying a lot and have even had thoughts of killing myself.
I can’t escape the way that I feel…the ringing in my ears, the deafening silence, the dark hole I am in shows no end.
Is this what was planned for me? What is feeling right? Will I ever feel right? I hate not knowing whether or not I want to live.
Why is this happening to me?
Save my life Lord. I still have faith in you.
Protect me. Save me.
Forgive me. Please.
That's the day I lost my faith. And I don't know if you have ever lost faith before but it sucks. I still don't identify with Christianity today and I don't have a problem with those who get strength from religion whatsoever - there was a time when I did but that's just not for me anymore.
We are so scared to share and talk about these topics because of how we feel we will be judged and how people will see us as weak or "mental".
So back to 2006.
After several weeks of psychology and medication I locked myself in the bathroom one night. I still don't know if I actually wanted to kill myself or not, but I wanted to feel something. A cry for attention? Sure. But not in the way you think.
I was just so scared about what I was going through - depression, anxiety, and losing faith in a religion I had followed my entire life. We are so scared to share and talk about these topics because of how we feel we will be judged and how people will see us as weak or "mental", or just the fear of letting people down for not being strong enough.
Our society has made this topic a taboo. And it's not a taboo. It's a reality. I needed help and I was too scared to properly ask for it.
I wouldn't be here today without my parents, my friends and my family. They made it ok for me to talk about this. They held my hand and were patient and kind and loving and understanding. We all need to be these people for others in this life. For me, I didn't get through this because of prayer or faith. I got through it because I talked and I had people listen.
The reason that 10 years later I am sharing what is the worst aspect of my life is because this isn't a taboo subject. This isn't something I should be ashamed about or embarrassed about or feel weak about.
And if any of you or anyone you know is going through a struggle, whether it’s because of personal depression or losing your faith in a religion or in yourself. The reason I am here today is to tell you that's all good. You can talk about it. And I am not embarrassed. And I am not ashamed. And I am not weak. And neither are you.
So love. And talk, talk, talk.
Because this isn't taboo. It's just life. And we need to help each other through it.
If you need to talk to someone about your own mental health, try these helplines. If it is an emergency, call 111.
Lifeline - 0800 543 354 or (09) 5222 999 within Auckland
Depression Helpline - 0800 111 757
Healthline - 0800 611 116
Samaritans - 0800 726 666 (for callers from the Lower North Island, Christchurch and West Coast) or 0800 211 211 / (04) 473 9739 (for callers from all other regions)
Suicide Crisis Helpline (aimed at those in distress, or those who are concerned about the wellbeing of someone else) - 0508 828 865 (0508 TAUTOKO)
Youthline - 0800 376 633, free text 234 or email talk@youthline.co.nz
This story was originally told at The Watercooler, a monthly storytelling night held at The Basement Theatre. If you have a story to tell email thewatercoolernz@gmail.com or hit them up on Twitter or Facebook.
Illustration: Giselle Clarkson
This content is brought to you with funding support from New Zealand On Air.
