Surfers seem the most unlikely to be afflicted with the pain and anguish of mental health difficulties that now affect around 20% of the Australian adult population. But unfortunately that’s wrong. Photo: Mark Tipple
Surfing and mental health issues seem incompatible. One is based on enjoyment, on fun, on interaction; surfing is the embodiment of health. The other can be rooted in isolation, fear and destruction – not always, but it can be. Surfers seem the most unlikely to be afflicted with the pain and anguish of mental health difficulties that now affect around 20% of the Australian adult population. But unfortunately that’s wrong. Whilst particular lifestyles are more conducive to healthy living than others, mental health issues do not discriminate.
Two of my best friends went through a period of mental health issues and those same two friends were the happiest guys in the world. Both were surfers. They were fun guys. One had just begun a dream job, the other travelling the world. They were on top of their game, or so I thought.
There’s a reason I don’t use words like illness, disorder, dysfunctional, sickness, syndrome or disease when I write about our psychological wellbeing. And there’s a reason I use words like “issues” or “difficulties” instead. Unlike physical ailments which invade the body and infect the host, mental health isn’t so black and white, rather a continuum of stability and balance requiring constant attention and nourishment from every single one of us. Not often are we struck down immediately with a mental health issue; instead, it is often a gradual decline in the wrong direction.
One of my mates was depressed. His job hadn’t turned out the way he hoped, and he was turning into a person he didn’t like. Summoning the energy and courage to pull on board shorts and go surfing eventually became too difficult. It was then he swapped his board and the ocean for the confines of his darkened room. My other mate developed anxiety. Some difficult events overseas had left him feeling some very intense emotions which had brought on a series of panic attacks, often leaving him in a state of terror and gasping for oxygen.
Although I was overseas when both of my friends developed these problems, I was still troubled by the fact that I hadn’t known until they were already deep in the trenches, trying their best to hang on. To rub further salt into my wounds, I was even mid-way through a psychology degree. Why hadn’t I picked up on it?
Two questions plagued me: Why didn’t I know? And why didn’t they tell me?
My buddy going through depression saw a doctor. He was prescribed anti-depressants as well as rolling appointments with a local psychologist. His medication allowed him a clarity of mind that had eluded him for months before. He was able to talk through his behavior and feelings with a professional who seemed to understand what he was talking about. My other mate also saw a doctor who explained to him the nature of panic attacks and anxiety. He learned that these episodes would not kill him – despite how terrible they felt – and could actually be managed quite successfully. He then dived into a host of recommended information, choosing a number of self-help resources that would teach him the techniques for controlling his anxiety and subsequent attacks.
One reason I didn’t know about the difficulties of my friends was because I never asked. I mean, sure, I asked how they were when I spoke to them long distance over the phone, or over brief email exchanges. I asked them how they were in the same way we ask our friends, partners, colleagues, parents, shopkeepers, librarians and neighbours how they are every day. Although we say the words, we don’t really mean them. In fact, in Australia the words, “How are ya, mate?” are more greeting than question. These two guys – my mates – were doing it tough and I couldn’t remember the last time I had purposefully asked how they were getting on. The other reason I never picked up on their issues was because they never told me. Blame it on masculinity, Australian culture, ignorance of mental health or plain simple embarrassment, these out-dated and detrimental motivations prevented my best friends from reaching out and asking for help.
These guys are still my friends. They both live within 100 metres of the Pacific Ocean on Australia’s East Coast. They both surf most days. They both have girlfriends. They now both work in areas they love. And whilst their road to recovery still continues, the lessons they learnt – that I learnt – will ensure that if it ever happens again, it’ll be a much smoother journey.
