Backpackin'
Brownkatz & Brownkatz on Backpacking, Hiking and Camping.
"The Adventures of Tintin (Les Aventures de Tintin) is a series of comic strips created by the Belgian artist Georges Rémi (1907–1983), who wrote under the pen name of Hergé. ..The success of the series saw the serialised strips collected into a series of twenty-four albums, spun into a successful magazine and adapted for film and theatre. The series is one of the most popular European comics of the 20th century, with translations published in over 50 languages and more than 200 million copies of the books...Set during a largely realistic 20th century, the hero of the series is Tintin, a young Belgian reporter..." From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
About Me
by Stuart Skinner
I have been living with bi-polar disorder (manic depression) for 12 years, however, I did not get a correct diagnosis until only a few years ago. I have found that both outdoor pursuits and public speaking are vital in managing my condition. Mental illness can be a destructive force, but is frequently compounded by the stigma commonly associated with it. A lot of the suffering I have encountered has been a needles result of such stigma and discrimination. Not only do I use my experiences to aid my recovery from a serious illness, I also use them to challenge the myth and stigma that having a mental illness all too often brings. by Stuart Skinner
The story of Tintin
When I was seven, with our belongings still boxed, my mum requested that the windows of our twelfth story flat immediately have safety bars installed. The windows already deemed child proof, were no match for an unordinary child. I was completely convinced that Superman was not an out-of-this-worldly being. That, or I was not of this Earth, with powers limited to mere mortals. The compound manager approved her request, but kindly informed her that it would take a couple of weeks. My mum, through gritted teeth, tried to make the man understand that this was something that could not “wait a while”. The compound manager, undoubtedly used to demanding tenants, stood firm. My mum kindly suggested, in a very demanding tone of voice, that he make his way to our flat at once. Was it a bird? Was it a plane that changed his mind? No. It was the sight of a seven year old donning a Superman outfit, complete with cape and cuts from my last attempt at flight, perched on the window ledge. Just like Achilles had the back of his heel, Superman had the green glow of Kryptonite, I had the lore of multi-coloured crispy coated chocolates. My mum would cunningly coax me back in with a tube of Smarties and then proceed to remind me with the a swift smack to the bottom that, unlike Superman; I was pertinent to pain and subsequently, death.
There were workmen installing metal bars on the windows within an hour. When the ground floor flat became vacant some weeks later, there was no hesitancy on my parent’s part to take the short lift-journey downstairs. Much to my parents despair, their relief was short-lived. My new environment simply allowed me to transform from caped crusader to webbed wonder. My failed attempts at flight were simply replaced by clambering on for dear life at precarious heights. Still delusional, I failed to comprehend that I was not vested with supernatural abilities. Rather than the knight in shining armour, it was I that had to be rescued with regularity.
With time, my daredevil behaviour subsided. My penchant for adopting the persona of comic strip characters; seemingly had not. Soon after starting uni, I was sat around the table in a bar on a team bonding exercise for the new recruits and “old boys” of the American Football team. I had never played before, but decided to give it a go as the existing players seemed like a good crowd and I yearned for company. We were being told old and dramatized “battle” anecdotes over generous lashings of lager. Somewhat abruptly and very loudly, John, in a fit of intoxicated hysterics announced: “dude, you look just like Tintin”. In that moment I forfeited my identity. Most had forgotten my real name within the hour. Calling me by real name was a henceforth punishable offence. A pint of nasty awaited the perpetrator. My teammates had christened what swiftly became my alter ego.
Little had anyone realised that my childhood superhero antics weren’t some form of idiosyncratic behaviour, they were in fact indicative of the early signs of bipolar disorder. Some fifteen years later, unnoticed and untreated: the condition had almost become uncontrollable. Becoming Tintin provided an outlet for the manic part of me to flourish, whilst allowing me to suppress the torturous thoughts that had started to ravage me. It was Freud that claimed mania was a defence against depression - Tintin was my moat, drawbridge and heavily fortified castle.
Tintin and Stuart symbolised the two ends of the bipolar spectrum. Tintin drank, took risks and was often recklessly out of control. Stuart suffered with pangs of guilt, low self-worth and anxiety, often using self-harm as an outlet. Both did everything to excess. I was no Jekyll and Hyde though. Like many other people with bipolar; I often experienced a ‘mixed bipolar state’, where symptoms of mania and depression occur together. Living with an undiagnosed mental illness would often prove a thoroughly bewildering experience. I confused mania with normality. I was under the desperately defiant belief that there couldn’t be anything too wrong with me. How could there be? I felt fantastic at times! The thought I had a mental illness was far removed from the realms of my mind.
I felt imprisoned by the loathsomely lonely existence that befalls depression; the alluring euphoria of manic highs served as my only reprise. In reality, both were equally savage. It’s like a small spark that erupts into a wayward wildfire ravaging everything it in its path. Yet, as quickly as the fire’s flames flare up, they perish without a whimper. Only charred remnants remain and darkness ensues. Hope had become a limp light at the end of a very long tunnel. I wanted a finite end to my torment and suicidal ideation consumed my thoughts as the sole solution.
Like many manic-depressives, I became very good at hiding the symptoms. It wasn’t long before the cracks in the facade appeared though. The ashes were too apparent and I was smouldering with suffering. By the time I had reached twenty-seven, I had lost: my job, my long-term girlfriend and found myself in thousands of pounds of debt. At a time when I should have had the world at my feet, I had nothing. To some extent, such monumental loss proved my saving grace: it forced me to face the reality that I needed help. With the support of a friend, I walked into A&E and asked to see the psychiatrist on duty. After a brief run-down of my lifetime experience of mood swings; I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and psychiatric treatment ensued. Receiving a correct diagnosis was a double-edge sword; part me of me felt a sheer sense of relief that I finally knew what was ‘wrong’ with me, yet I also had to face the difficult realisation that this was a long term condition with no quick-fix.
Whilst medication and various therapies initially proved helpful, I was still left with an overwhelming sense of loss and failure. I felt I had no life worth living and my recovery was representative of my mental state: sluggish and lethargic. I soon relapsed into a long and lacerating, dark depression culminating with an overdose. One day I awoke and yet I felt dead. Beside my bed, my mum was staring at me intently. With tears rolling down her eyes, heaviness in her voice she said: “We just don’t know what to do with you”. I had started drinking down by the harbour with a friend in the early afternoon on the previous day as though possessed by some maniacal spirit. I carried on drinking when I got home, mixing vodka and Valium; a drug prescribed to alleviate my anxiety and one I had a history of abusing. The rest is a blank. I eventually passed out in the kitchen, knocking myself out in the process. When I came round, I wished I hadn’t.
I had to do something sharpish. I was facing the very real and harrowing prospect of being sectioned for my own safety. I was a lost soul stranded in a stormy sea, at risk of being swallowed into the dark abyss below. Just as the beacon of light emanating from the spire of a lighthouse has served as a guiding saviour: a ray of light helped me find my way and I emerged reincarnated. The light did not originate from a towering beacon. It manifested itself in the piercing shrill of the phone ringing. My friend Lloyd was coming to the end of his volunteer service in the Philippines and wanted to go home in style. Lloyd had planned a mammoth bike trip through SE Asia and wanted me to go with him. I now had something to aim for, something to save me from the sea of self-loathing: hope. So began my rocky ride to recovery. So began the real adventures of Tintin.
Cycling, in many ways, resembled my life – there were days when the roads were so rocky it took all my focus just to hold on and then there were days when the roads were so smooth I could easily absorb my surroundings. There were days when I’d wake up and look at my bike with disdain, and there were days when I’d wake up brimming with excitement. There were days when there was no traffic and I was at peace, then there were days when traffic zoomed past at such a frenetic pace that it distressed me. There were days where every pedal stroke felt laborious and then there were days when everything was effortless and I’d seem to fly. It takes patience, perseverance and sheer grit to get to the top of a steep hill. But then the journey wouldn’t be such an adventure, nor would it be very fulfilling if it were without challenge. It’s important to sit back, relax and enjoy the ride once and a while too. The adventure continues...
Previous ‘Adventures’
1.Expedition Leader Training Course, Central America
2.‘La Ruta Maya’, 170 mile canoe race, Belize
3.John O’Groats to Lands End charity bike ride,1200 miles, UK
4.4000 mile charity bike ride, SE Asia
5.8000 mile coast-coast-coast road trip, USA
Notable Speaking Appearances
1.“How Mad Are You”, BBC Horizon
2.“Surviving Suicide”, BBC2
3.Charlie Crocker Show, Radio Solent
4.Self-Harm: Stuart’s Story, TheSite.org
5.Headroom with Ruby Wax, BBC
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