Things can look pretty grim viewed from the business end of a noose, and far more people than our evasive, constipated society acknowledges know exactly how that feels.In a frank and revealing insight into his experience of mental illness, former advocate Alan Muir challenges you to look directly at what is invisible right in front of us.

In recent years we have begun to see the hitherto unthinkable redundancy, from office junior through to partners. As a product of the comprehensive system, in Glasgow too, I have to avoid the tempting “Welcome to the real world chaps”. The number of sequestrations in the last year has risen by 158%. Hospital beds and bankruptcy can be great levellers. I know, I’ve experienced both. So, in many ways this is part “been there and got through it”. Trust me, you can and you will.

I have, for a number of years now, coped with bouts of clinical depression, first properly recognised when I was at the Bar and in November 2002 couldn’t face even adjourning a trial. I later learned that it was a panic attack on the back of the depression. How I drove home from Peterhead is still a mystery to me, but I do remember feeling like a child who had just been told that it was alright, he wouldn’t have to return to that terrible school. I shall always be grateful to Mark Stewart QC who, as Advocate-Depute, allowed me to “slip off” that day.

Having hidden behind the door for five months, I attempted to hang myself, twice as it turned out due to the cord snapping. If M&S made those dressing gown cords any stronger, I wouldn’t be here. Instead of a rush of relief, I heard my internal bully screaming “You couldn’t even get that right!” After a call to the Murray Royal in Perth, cord bits still round neck, I was admitted. When discharged three weeks later, much against my wishes, I found, on the kitchen table, my suicide note which, needless to say, had left instructions for my much-loved sister about who not to allow to the funeral! Arrogant sod or what?

I’d love to tell you that all was well thereafter, but, in my case, the black dog, grey shadow, or whatever you choose to call it, is a factor of the “me” I have accepted. I call it “The Bottle Dungeon”: an underground holding cell with a single entry/exit, a narrow neck allowing some light to enter teasing the wretched occupant. The effect was that they would try to crawl up the wall to the light and freedom, only to learn that the walls, being orb-shaped were coming back on them as they climbed, so, sapping what little energy they had and leaving them with even less for the next futile, desperate attempt.

As I saw my depression, each day I tried to crawl out I fell back with less energy or will to even try again. Why bother? It would only return anyway. Three years later I was back in the “nuthouse” (don’t go all PC on me, we discussed it one night and came to the conclusion that, if you’ve been in one, you can call it that).

The above will show you just how self-obsessed the illness of depression can make us. Yes, us. I didn’t plan to have it and don’t know anyone who did. I have learned that despite the terrors of actually disclosing how we feel, very often “they” have had experience of it themselves or via a family member. It is like the flu, it doesn’t care about achievement, sins or commitments: a very non-discriminatory illness in that way. Sadly, it is also a hell on earth for those close to us, as they are powerless to cure. No amount of “but look at all the things you’ve achieved”, “everybody likes you” etc. can shift the fact that the first reaction to any positive observation is “I don’t deserve any of it”. Therein lies, for me at any rate, the biggest problem in trying to explain depression to someone who hasn’t prayed for the end and felt cheated by God, Fate or whatever, when they wake up next morning.

Depression, in my experience, is utter despair i.e. an absence of hope. It is an illness of perception where, once the perception is righted, the fog begins to clear. As it says in the Talmud, “We do not see things as they are, we see them as we are”. If any of this is coming a bit too close, please speak out to someone you trust. The help, just like the truth, is out there. The “I thought that you’d realize” tack is to be avoided. As I was once told, ”How would we know, your heid’s no glass” The greatest sickness is denial and we all deserve the help. Why? As the L’Oreal adverts say, “Because you’re worth it” BUT start to believe that.

I have come to accept the anti-depressants in the same way as a diabetic does insulin, albeit in my case, I still test the “I must be alright by now” theory . To hear someone say, “I know how you feel”, and see in their eyes that they actually do, is often a huge step towards the light. It was for me and I thank all those who did. I now know what hell they had come through to earn the right to say it with a disarming sincerity.