Mission Statement

Who are we?

We are a group of people passionate about supporting and caring for those affected by mental illness. We are dedicated to raising awareness of the key issues within our society, confronting stigmas and stereotypes and changing attitudes towards those suffering from these conditions.

 

What do we do?

We meet regularly in Northwood, Middlesex and, through media publications via email, Facebook, twitter and local churches we aim to increase awareness of the mental health issues.

ThinkTwice also runs awareness events, aimed at educating young adults about current mental health issues within our society. Our first event was in 2011 and has established the foundation for further future events.

 

Vision

Our vision is for a society, led by the church, which understands and supports those affected by ill mental health without judgement, condemnation, stigma or stereotype.

In the future it is our aim to establish a group of multi-disciplinary professionals- including theologians, psychiatrists and counsellors- to be actively involved in offering support to those affected by mental illness Furthermore, ThinkTwice aims to offer increasingly high quality mental health awareness resources for churches and local charities.

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Travel Companions

I think travel companions are pretty important. If you have ever been in a car with me, for example, you will soon realise how vital your presence is. The likelihood that I will get lost is pretty high and having a calm voice and someone to look at the google map app on my phone are vital.

In the rest of life, travel companions are arguably even more important than they are when I’m driving. Throughout my life it has been those people who have walked and stumbled alongside me who have made the days of light more enjoyable and the dark days more endurable.

The Emmaus Road seems to demonstrate to me the ultimate in a travel companion. When Jesus walked alongside Cleopas and his friend, He did not rush in with clever answers instead He listened, walked alongside and comforted the men who believed all hope had been lost when Jesus died on the cross.

For the mentally ill, having someone who cares enough to walk alongside them is more powerful than the cleverest of words and the most sparkling psychological insight. In fact, it isn’t even restricted to the mentally ill. The presence of another, a travel companion makes the most arduous journey, bearable.

 

 

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Suffering Sparks Dreams

If you’ve seen the ThinkTwice twitter or Facebook page recently you can’t have failed to notice that we’ve had a bit of an exciting weekend, booking a headlining act for ThinkTwice Cafe Concert and meeting some great youth leaders at the Youth Work Summit early day at LST. Following the twitter action from the main event I’ve loved reading the quotes and catching a bit of what’s going on (though sad revision prevented me from going…but I’m not bitter, promise!).

Anyway, there was one quote which caught my eye in particular: “You want to find hope when the vision dies. Go to the suffering. Then and there the dream sparks back to life”.

It has certainly been true in the short life of ThinkTwice. On the days when I wasn’t sure I’d ever get anything off the ground, when I wonder if I’m doing it right and I’m low on energy – it is on these days that I have to go back to the beginning. Return to the reason I am doing this.

So why do I bother?

I bother because I have heard far too many stories of people being rejected – by churches and society because of their mental health conditions.

I bother because my family and I have been through too much to waste the years.

I bother fighting for because there are those who cannot fight for themselves.

ThinkTwice was birthed out of a loss of hope. A loss of hope and a desire to claw it back.

Suffering sparked my dream for ThinkTwice.

What suffering sparks yours dream?

 

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ThinkTwice Cafe Concert at LST

An evening with non-alcoholic cocktails, nibbles, live music including some original songs and mental health awareness. Free for LST students, £1 entry for everyone else! In order to book your place either reply on Facebook or email think.twice@mail.com

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Wounds that Heal?

Two days ago I completed my third year project. A 10,000 word dissertation which has been a labour of love for the past year. “Towards a pastoral response to the suicidal” was the title and it has not been easy. And yet, it has been full of hope. Writing about suicide and suicidal feelings is not the happiest, most upbeat of topics – but writing about how we can support those suffering and educate the Church and society in which we live has inspired and encouraged me.

I wanted to share the final paragraph of my dissertation, because it expresses (briefly) the journey I have been on during the writing. It reads:

“In practice, suicide prevention is more complex and nuanced than can be written on paper. It is not merely a matter of adhering to rules and guidelines, but connecting with the pain and despair of the suffering, using our own pain behind us as an easel and painting a picture of hope, rooted in the biblical narrative and person and work of Jesus Christ, His palms bearing the scars of the nails and arms open wide leading his people home.”

During the writing and researching I have delved into the darker side of humanity, and yet I feel I have been able to glimpse the light that shines from and through Christ Jesus. It is a light which is not afraid of the darkness. It is a light that fights when the darkness threatens to drown it out.

It is my hope that my dissertation will not sit at the bottom of a drawer, gathering dust -but that I may be able to put it to good use and utilise what I’ve learned in the real world. It has, in some ways formed my own pain. It has reminded me that we have the gift and responsibility to use our pain to comfort those who are still in the depths that we once fought through. It is by the wounds of Christ that we are comforted and healed and saved. I am beginning to realise that our pain becomes the fire which burns for others. It is the fuel of our compassion.

As Nicholas Wolterstorff writes so beautifully:

“By his wounds we are healed”. In the wounds of Christ is humanity’s healing. Do our wounds also heal? This gaping wound in my chest – does it heal? What before I did not see, I now see; what before I did not feel, I now feel. But this raw bleeding cavity which needs so much healing, does it heal while waiting for healing? We are the body of Christ on earth. Does that mean that some of our wounds are his wounds, and that some of our wounds heal?” (1)

I believe, have to believe, that our wounds do heal and that in the process God may show his healing power through our wounds and the healing of those wounds. It is my prayer of petition, and my prayer of praise.

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Depression Awareness Week 2012

“This weather is so depressing”

“I’m so depressed about Manchester United losing at the weekend”

Depression, depressed, depressing – they’re all rather overused words. And yet they don’t do justice to what the reality of clinical depression is.

“Sometimes”, says a fellow depressive, “I wish I was in a full body cast, with every bone in my body broken. That’s how I feel anyway.” Sally Brampton, Shoot the Damn Dog. (1)

It is a brilliant description for a terrifying and sometimes life threatening mental illness which affects 1 in 6 people in the UK. So often because everyone feels “depressed” at one time or another, it can be all too easy to trivialise clinical depression, easy to brush under the carpet, to instruct the sufferer to “pull themselves together”.

And yet.

Can you imagine what life is like for the person who lives each day desiring death? Where you wake up in the morning exhausted and stagger through the day in the same haze of exhaustion. Where food tastes like sawdust, your eyes struggle to focus and your heart is crushed with a heavy sadness. These are just a few of the symptoms of clinical depression and a diagnosis of depression can be made with five or more of these symptoms and it is vital to see your GP as soon as possible so that you can get the help and support you need.

Depression can suck the life out of people, and drain the energy and compassion from those around the sufferer.

There is, however, hope.

It is a serious illness, but it can be dealt with and helped. It can sound simplistic; but a healthy lifestyle with enough food, water, fresh fruit and vegetables with regular exercise can help to release “feel-good hormones”. Whilst these lifestyle changes don’t necessarily “cure” depression, they can go towards alleviating some of the symptoms.

Talking therapies such as Cognitive Behavioural Therapy and psychotherapy can equip people to deal with the things that have happened in their lives and the thought patterns which may have become entrenched.

Personally, what has helped me the most is the love and care of those closest to me. For the times when I have been unable to face another day, or to speak through my tears – and those I loved would hold me close and assure me that I am not alone.

Because that is often the depressive’s worst fear. That people would see the darkness within and run for the hills.

All too often, sufferers of depression push their nearest and dearest away. But in the midst of my own darkness, I found the following words profoundly helpful.

Andrew Solomon writes in his aptly named “The Noonday Demon: An Anatomy of Depression”

“Listen to the people who love you. Believe that they are worth living for even when you don’t believe it. Seek out the memories depression takes away and project them into the future. Be brave; be strong; take your pills. Exercise because it’s good for you even if every step weighs a thousand pounds. Eat when food itself disgusts you. Reason with yourself when you have lost your reason.” (2)

Above all, cling to God. When you feel as if He is further than He has even been – hold on. Because He is there and He will always be there. On one of the worst days of my life, I was given these verses to reflect on from Psalm 40:

“I waited patiently for the LORD, he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet upon a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear the LORD and put their trust in Him.”

They are verses which have become my prayer and it is my pleasure and privilege to try to put some of the darkness to good use.

I will not say, cannot say that the darkness has gone completely. It hasn’t, sometimes it remains and drains me. But there is hope. Hope because I have learned, over the years to hold on. Hope because there are those who love me. Hope because we have a God who does not let  go. Hope because there is medication which helps to balance the chemicals in my brain which go a little haywire!

My message for Depression Awareness Week 2012?

There is hope.

Even when you can’t see it.

Even when everything feels hopeless.

There is hope.

(1) Brampton, S. Shoot the Damn Dog, London: Norton, 2008.

(2) Solomon, A. Noonday Demon, London: Vintage Books, 2002.

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The Scream

It is a world famous painting. Edward Munch’s depiction of human despair and fear in all its stark agony sends shivers down my spine.

It is expected to fetch $80 million when it goes up for auction at Sotherby’s in May and I can clearly recall the first time I heard of this remarkable painting.

I was 10 years old and reading Jacqueline Wilson’s “The Illustrated Mum”, in it, the title character is in the grips of a mental illness and has countless tattoos all over her body. Whilst in a psychiatric unit she inks the scream up and down her arm, the recreation of this iconic artwork onto her skin sheds light on the dark insanity by which the character is gripped.

It is not only characters in books who suffer from the despair depicted in “The Scream”.

It struck me as I looked at a copy of the painting again that it is a remarkably disturbing image – not something one would want on your dining room wall – Munch himself describes the feelings which drove him to paint it:

I went along the road with two friends—
The sun set
Suddenly the sky became blood—and I felt the breath of sadness
A tearing pain beneath my heart
I stopped—leaned against the fence—deathly tired
Clouds over the fjord of blood dripped reeking with blood
My friends went on but I just stood trembling with an open wound
in my breast trembling with anxiety I heard a huge extraordinary
scream pass through nature. (1)

These feelings are not reserved for Munch, and it is perhaps precisely this reason that the painting has proved so popular. Most people who look upon the picture will remember the time where they felt deep despair and fear. Personally, I am catapulted straight back to a cold January night on a psychiatric ward nearly four years ago. The despair was all too visible, all too impossible to voice.
Perhaps this is the reason that paintings like Munch’s are so popular, so famous. Words are all too often inadequate to describe despair, our lexicon is limited to despair, desolation, depression – but in all honesty these words do not do justice to such pain. The pain which rips through life and leaves, in its’ wake the kind of destruction seen after a hurricane.
The fact that this painting is such an icon for our culture, speaks to me of the state of our hearts and minds. The fear, disillusionment and hopelessness.
It seems to me that we, as the Church must find a way to connect with this hopelessness – to walk alongside those at their wits end and hold their hands until the other side. It is something which is happening up and down the country, all over the world – it is our calling. It is my calling, to serve those who live amidst the scream.
And I am reminded once again (probably because I’ve just finished writing a section of my dissertation on it) of that morning when Jesus walked alongside Cleopas and his companion on the Road to Emmaus. When they believed all hope was lost and Jesus joined them on their journey and shared his scars with them.
This narrative seems to invite us to do the same – to share in the scream and agony – to walk alongside people on that journey and offer  up our broken and scarred selves to the Lord, trusting that He will use our pain to comfort others in pain.
That is my prayer.
That our screams may be heard and form those screams can come a song offering hope to others.
(1) http://yalepress.yale.edu/yupbooks/excerpts/munch.asp
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Balancing the Ethical and Pastoral

As you may know if you’ve been reading this blog for a while, I’m currently writing my third year dissertation on ethical and pastoral responses to the suicidal.

It’s a challenging project, not least because of some of the pro-suicide sources I’ve had to engage with.

And yet, above all that I’ve learnt, am learning, is how to balance the ethical and the pastoral. How to be faithful to the biblical text whilst also serving the struggling and the suffering. Particularly with the issue of suicidality, it can be all too easy to either neglect the ethical or to simply judge and criticise. Neither of these approaches are helpful.

We have to try and get this balance right. I really hope that I’m going to manage it! I feel burdened more than ever to reach into the word and reach out to the suffering. Suicidal feelings are distressing and can devastate lives. It is my prayer that some of the research I’m doing is going to make a difference. That the study of such a despairing topic, will, somehow bring hope.

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Springtime Blues?

I’ve heard of winter blues, but it occurred to me today that spring makes me sad. It has made me sad for quite a long time. When the scent of the air is thick and sweet, smelling of blossom and freshly cut grass stirs in me so many memories that hit me in the solar plexus. I wrote about it this time last year and I thought I would share that writing here, in case any others feel the same.

“Today is a sunny, bright day.

The smell of freshly cut grass reminds me of those Bank Holidays and Saturdays when Mum and Dad would be outside gardening, or clearing the garage out and I would be inside, by choice, hiding from the sun to sit at my computer and write stories full of death and destruction and loneliness.

Later I would sit in the same seat working myself into the ground; colour-coding notes, reading textbooks and studying diagrams. The sun reminds me of the days when Mum would be reading the paper in the garden and Dad falling asleep in front of the telly.

Of days in Mr. Besant’s garden with Jessie, building dens, lying on our stomachs in the grass chatting and reading for hours on end. Going to the park, playing on swings, having picnics.

Wandering to the ice cream van to get sweets with Jessie to enable us to survive two hours of music theory.

Having lunch in the forest with Michelle and Freyja, before returning to school for afternoon lessons.

Walking in the sunshine to the sandwich shop near Avon House, getting a sandwich and a diet coke each for Liz and I. Sitting in the pub with Nancy, glass of wine in hand, putting work and the world to rights.

The sun reminds me of sunny afternoons, getting the bus to see my psychologist after work, scars irritated by the heat and feeling faint. Of listening to Marya Hornbacher on my iPod. Sitting in Andrew’s office. Crying. Catatonic.

LST. Sun shining. Balmy evenings at the Gate. Short bright skirts and picnics on the grass. Watching the boys play football whilst lazily flicking through revision notes.”

The sights and smells of spring awaken in so many memories. Some are lovely and precious, others are unimaginably painful. I don’t think I am alone in this. That the sun can hold as many bad memories, as good ones. The Spring, the start of the sunshine awakens these memories from the cold chill of winter.

And yet. There is hope. Hope because memory means survival. Hope because there is opportunity for more memories, better memories.

I end with a poem, written around this feeling of the darkest of times remembered in the light of summer sunshine.

There is something about the sun

That shines in my memories

My darkest days, I remember in light

Of hiding from the happiness

That came with the sun

Behind closed doors

And curtained windows

I delved into my depths

Searching my darkness

For the light

There is something about the sun

That casts its harsh glow

But makes everything seem ‘right’

So easy to hide from reality

Blinded by the sun

Searching the dark

For the truth

Of what’s within

Wanting the depths

Of the darks’ comfort.

There is something about the sun,

That rises and sets

The beauty of normality, ritual.

It pierces the pains

A glimmer of hope

A new dawn,

A new start

Emerging from the dark

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Guest Blog by Hannah Malcolm on Depression

It is strange to think that 4 years ago I was essentially a happy and content teenager. That’s the thing with depression as a result of circumstances beyond your control – it is a dramatic alteration of your personality and basic outlook. I have close family members who have struggled with much longer-term depression, a kind of permanent setting in the brain that lasts a lifetime. Often, it takes a while to recognise that in someone, but when it is acknowledged, it is clear that it has a lengthy underlying basis. Depression as a result of circumstance is harder to understand. Horrible stuff happens to lots of people, and they largely move on with their lives and live quite normally once it’s over. For me, a series of unfortunate events when I was around 16 have affected me in ways I never thought they would at the time. I thought that by now I would be back to ‘normal’, back to how I was before and not still relying on medication and checks with the doctor every couple of months to assess my progress – generally not promising. I had hoped I would just need a little chemical boost to help me get through the nasty stuff before I got on with living.

That’s not what has happened. This morning, my eyes filled with tears while I was looking at a flying bird. Why? There is no rational explanation for such a response. I was just suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of disconnectedness to the rest of the world, and longing to feel part of it in a way I don’t feel I am, past the wall of numbness that seems to define me a lot of the time. That is, of course, a nonsense – and over the last year or so I have got increasingly frustrated at myself because of my failure to ‘get better’, despite the fact that actually my life is incredibly blessed in many ways. Some things are still hard, but not to any kind of extreme. I think other people find it confusing, too. There doesn’t seem to be any reason why a painful past would actually alter my personality so permanently, and I have had to acknowledge that the likelihood is that I will be ‘sick’ for a long time yet.

As I have mentioned in other posts on my blog, this change has led to my becoming incredibly sensitive and guilt ridden – not only in the choices I make, but in the very fact that I am depressed. I feel ashamed that for some reason I don’t feel that deep joy and peace that we are promised as Christians. I feel angry that God won’t lift this burden from me, and then I feel guilt at my anger. I feel fear for the future and whether this will ever go away. I fear the way it will affect current and future relationships with those around me. Life feels very, very long. Of course, medication (and for a long time counselling) has helped me enormously. I feel entirely ‘functional’ (whatever that means!) the majority of the time, and I do experience wild moments of joy like other people. But I don’t want to be reliant on pills. It’s hard to accept that about myself. I want to be stronger than I am.

Fortunately, Christ is more than sufficient, and his strength is made perfect in my weakness. It’s important to know these things about the one who has longed for us from eternity. A lot of the time, I don’t feel them, because my feelings are damaged. I have to know them instead – to lock them away, treasure them up in my heart and turn to them, running to the arms of one who has known deep grief, rejection and anguish, and accepting his love.

Hannah Malcolm, purposefulpurity.blogspot.com

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When you have nothing left to give. By Luke Maxted

A special guest blog by Luke Maxted…

Last week I read a blog featured by Sorted (a Christian men’s magazine) which was a response to the tragic death of Gary Speed. It commented on the way in which men deal with their emotions, on the fact that men are now apparently more likely than women to commit suicide. In England and Wales a man under 35 is more likely to die at his own hands than any other cause. The blog cited most men’s inability to share in times of struggle as a major factor in this statistic.

In many ways I’m one of those men.

I’ve never been good at telling people how I feel. I very rarely admit to finding life difficult, but I am learning. I don’t have many pretensions about what a man should or shouldn’t do/say/feel so please don’t chalk it up to an ill conceived notion of masculinity. I just find it hard.

In finding it hard, however, there feels some value in trying. The piece by Sorted made me wonder if my sharing here may allow those who suffer from depression to feel that they might be able to share with someone. Maybe just talking about mental health might allow for some of us to know that it is ok to talk about. Please don’t misunderstand this as a cry for help, thanks to a loving wife, good friends and a gracious God I have that. I just hope that some honesty might allow for conversation.

Today has not been a good day, that’s possibly what made today the day to write. I got up this morning and managed to read a few chapters of various books, made a few hundred words of notes, but this afternoon has been a write off. I’ve tried different things, I went for a walk, changed topic, read a different book but all I can really feel is a deep sadness. The frustrating thing is that I can’t work out when I first came to feel this way.

My earliest memory is being 4 years old and sitting in my room, hitting my head on a wall telling myself that I wasn’t good at anything. My Dad wondered what the noise was and found me in tears, convincing myself of my idiocy.

When I was 9 I wrote a letter explaining how worthless I was and that I would never succeed in life. That letter became a key part of me going to a Christian secondary school; my parents wanted to make sure that I went to a school which had the value of each individual as a core part of its ethos.

There was no dramatic event that started this. I grew up very loved, with supportive parents, caring siblings and a stable environment.

As a teenager my depression got worse. I was considered ‘bright but dark’ by most people at my school. I used to panic on my way to school, the anxiety would make me feel sick and I would go home. My teachers told me that it was ok, that things would improve when I took my A-levels, that success would follow because more challenging work would help my self esteem.

Sixth form (age 16-18) was, unfortunately, even worse. I was warned by the head of the college that I was at risk of being expelled because of my poor attendance. The modules that I enjoyed were fine, I got ‘A’s for those. The same was true for exams on days that I felt happier, but on days where I felt low I would get ‘D’s or ‘U’s (ungraded).

Finally I went to university. Whilst I was studying Philosophy in Manchester my best friend died. Emily was 19 when she finally succumbed to Leukaemia. The moment I heard I was torn apart. A week later I was informed that I had failed my first year of my BA because, despite getting very high marks for the work I submitted, I had not submitted 7 essays and thus could not pass the course. I repeated the year, took my Certificate of Higher Education and left.

My time at London School of Theology marked a huge change. Surrounded by friends, given a good routine and encouraged by the faculty I succeeded and graduated with an Upper Second Class degree. I was the student body Academic Representative and won an award for my contribution to the community. That’s not to say that it wasn’t hard. During my second year I had a recurring nightmare in which I was stabbed repeatedly in the neck. The anniversaries of Emily’s death and her birthday were a huge challenge. Some days I didn’t get out of bed at all. Yet there has most definitely been an upward curve.

People often tell me that depression is only a temporary thing, it stems from an event and will pass if you do the right things. So far the temporary thing has lasted approximately 20 years and counting. I can’t pinpoint where it could have come from. As for doing the right things: I eat well, have corrected my sleeping habits, I go to the gym about 3 times a week. I still struggle though.

Some days are good, some are not. Through prayer, good habits and the support of those around me the good days are starting to outnumber the bad.

My hope in sharing is that those who read this who, like me, suffer from depression will know that to share is not weakness. Please be encouraged that you are not alone, not in how you feel, nor when you come to deal with it.

My project in my final year at LST was a 10,000 word piece on Ecclesiastes. I did not do as well on it as I had hoped when my marks came back, but the opportunity to wrestle with the themes of the text and with my own experiences was invaluable. My closing paragraph of the piece said this:

‘Life is, as it was and shall always be, fleeting, a mere whisper of a beautiful secret that if clasped too tightly will slip away. Those who strive after it may as well chase the wind (1:14), yet for those who seek a full life, in partnership with another (4:9-10, 9:7-9) or in the fullness of one’s heart (11:9) life might be found. As Krüger writes: ‘In view of death and the uncertainties of life, wisdom leads people to seize possibilities for pleasure and enjoyment in the present, as well as opportunities to act’1 Thus we conclude here, then, as Fox begins, a reading of the work of Qohelet in which ‘he maintains a faith in God’s rule and fundamental justness, and he looks for ways to create a meaningful life in a world where so much is senseless.’2 For, in spite of all of that which may come to pass and that will pass away, ‘life is sweet, and it is pleasant for the eyes to see the sun’ (11:7).

Fox, Michael V., The JPS Bible Commentary: Ecclesiastesקהלת, Philadelphia:The Jewish Publication     Society, 2004.

Krüger, Thomas, Hermeneia – A Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible: Qoheleth, Minneapolis:     Augsburg Fortress, 2004.

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