The England cricketer Ben Stokes deserves a great deal of credit for going public with his mental health demons. Whether going public by way of a Sam Mendes film on Amazon Prime was the right way to go about it is, I suppose, a matter for Stokes himself. He’s been described variously as being ‘brave’ and ‘courageous’ in opening up on his demons and I’ll go along with that. Given his cricketing brilliance and international fame, this was never going to destroy, or even effect, his career but it probably took some saying. And as a fellow mentalist, I congratulate him. Without wishing to devalue his honesty, I very much doubt that had Stokes been in another place and another job he would have had such a sympathetic hearing.
For example, when he was at his lowest, Stokes was able to take a complete break from his sport of choice. That’s not something I would have been able to have done when I was a lowly civil servant. Well, I could have taken unpaid leave, which would have made it tough to put bread on the table, or I could have gone sick, which would have attracted tough sanctions from the employer if it lasted for more than a week or so. In an ideal world, any and all of us would have been able to take time off as required to deal with our mental health. Nonetheless, let’s not be bitter about these things. Good luck to Stokes for being able to do it.
One thing that interested me was how Stokes acquired the services of a clinical psychologist, “someone who could understand what I was feeling and tell me what my brain is doing, why it’s happening,” said Stokes. My loyal reader will be well aware of my self-pitying whining about the inadequate care I have received over more than half a century but this gave me an idea. Maybe I could see one too. I’ve been on the antidepressants for more years than I care to recall and I’ve seen more therapists and counsellors than some people have had hot dinners. Possibly. But a clinical psychologist. Never had that, never been offered one.
Next week, I have actually managed to secure a face-to-face GP appointment, something all but unheard of at our local health centre who you should only contact if you are literally at death’s door, or even dead and I am going to use it wisely. It’s ostensibly about my creaking bones but somehow in the ten minutes available I am going to ask to see a clinical psychologist. If it’s good enough for a cricketer, then surely it’s good enough for me?
I wasn’t much of a fan of Stokes before his mental health confession and I admit I can’t warm to him even now. But he’s given me an idea which I shall pursue next week, right up to the moment when the doctor says, “Sorry, that’s not available to you. Ever thought of going private? NEXT!”
