![Mornings the darkest time of day]( "Mornings the darkest time of day")
Federal Liberal parliamentarian Andrew Robb felt inhibited by the stigma attached to mental illness. Picture: Aaron Francis Source: The Australian
I TRIED all the tricks I knew to make myself feel better. I arrived early at meetings so I could go for a walk in the sun.
I told myself I was just unfortunate: I’ve got side effect no 13 out of 24, and it happens to be severe depression. I knew I had to put up with it for three or four weeks before my body adjusted.
I had never experienced anything like it. it was a lot worse than the underlying condition. it was a real hollowing out of yourself, not wanting to think about anything. At least in the past I knew I would slowly come out of it as the day progressed, but now I wasn’t functioning well at any time of the day. I didn’t want to make decisions, although I could force myself to, and I often spent hours looking at the wall in my office.
Vanessa Konig, my personal assistant, knew all the details and the impact the medication was having on me. Each morning she would ask how I was. "I’m bad," was all I could say, and then I would just sit in my office with my door shut.
IT was four weeks like that, just trying to keep lifting one foot after the other. it made me wonder about people who have chronic depression. What a curse.
My wife Maureen’s own recollection of those four weeks shows another perspective:
When Andrew decides to do something, he gets on with it. he likes a plan of action, and Jeff Kennett facilitated that by recommending a psychiatrist who is of the same ilk. After the first visit to the psychiatrist, Andrew was quite buoyed up. this thing could be fixed and he was going to do it, and fast.
Things did not go to plan. Chronic tiredness, listlessness, 24-hour depression, sleeplessness, jerking of his whole body when asleep and sweating all manifested themselves over the next three to four weeks. he had hardly told anyone what he was doing, so was trying to work and go about life as normal.
Parliament was sitting in Canberra. Andrew had to travel from Canberra to Melbourne during the week a couple of times to see the psychiatrist. We are a close family and I would tell our children and parents or friends that he was coming back for a meeting. I knew our daughter was suspicious.
At least before starting the medication he would get out of bed, albeit very unwillingly. he would come home from work at three or four o’clock in the afternoon, unheard of for this workaholic. he would say that he couldn’t do anything: not look at an email, not lift the phone, not read anything. he would just sit in his office looking at the walls. At home he would sleep on the couch with no interest in the news or anything else. Sleep at night was elusive, so he was taking sleeping tablets as well.
I was worried that this medication was not going to work. The doctor had said that Andrew would probably get worse before he got better and that lots of people did not stick it out. There is a very high percentage of people who give up the medication after only a few weeks. I had met the psychiatrist and had to be on suicide watch, so to speak, because of the side effects of the medication. I think I had been on duty all that weekend.
At the end of the four weeks, I had adjusted enough to the medication, but the mornings were the same as they had always been. Professor John Tiller decided to double the dosage. he warned me I could get the same side effects again.
The first day, a Friday, I didn’t feel too bad, but I had to go back to Canberra on the Sunday and I was cactus again. When I arrived in Canberra at 8pm on Sunday I went straight to bed.
The next day, I was just going through the motions. There was a shadow cabinet meeting, which I mumbled through. My vision of getting on top of the condition, and the medication, within four to six weeks was starting to explode.
People were still asking me about the leadership. I couldn’t keep saying, "I’m thinking about it." How long does one person need to consider something like that? I realised I had to do something.
When Professor Tiller said I had to trial the increased dosage for another month, I knew my timetable was shot. I didn’t want to make decisions, but I knew I couldn’t put this one off for much longer.
On Tuesday morning there was the usual three-hour partyroom meeting, which was held every week of parliamentary sittings. I was really in a bad way. I listened for 20 minutes and then I saw the sun shining outside, so I left.
It is probably a five-minute walk from the Liberal partyroom — down a green-carpeted corridor, turn right, left and right again, and out large glass doors, across the road that goes around Parliament House — to some wonderful little gardens. it is not where you would normally expect to find a senior member of the Coalition during a partyroom meeting. They are very private gardens. There are benches surrounded by rose bushes and wisteria hanging from a pergola.
That is where I took myself at 9.15am on September 15, 2009, seeking respite from myself. I can only imagine what I looked like, sitting there alone on the bench with shoulders rounded forward.
The sun was beating down, which made me feel better, and I didn’t have to deal with anything. I could have stayed there for hours, but after 50 minutes my mobile phone rang. it was Nick Xerakias, my senior staff member. Malcolm [Turnbull] had been in touch, wanting me back in the meeting. My stomach dropped. That was the last thing I wanted, but if the leader calls you, you go, no matter how you feel.
ENTERING the partyroom, I was hit with someone in full swing attacking Malcolm’s implied support for the government’s emissions trading scheme. The idea of having to form a view, to respond quickly, just felt like an impossible effort. The adrenalin always gave me a rush but invariably not until I got to my feet.
I FORCED myself to stand up, I started walking towards the front of the room and then it happened. The adrenalin started pumping, my thoughts came together, and I argued coherently for 10 minutes.
I dealt with the issue without slighting Malcolm, and reassured everyone there was a process we were going to follow. I gave them a sense that they were still in control and that Malcolm would be part of that process. I can’t really remember what I said, but whatever it was seemed to reassure everyone, and it was said with enough conviction and authority that it was effective. it shut the issue down for Malcolm, at least for that meeting. I sat down.
Peter Costello was in the room. We hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks, and he must have thought, "oh, Robbie’s back in action." he wasn’t alone. My speech, or rather my performance, prompted two or three of the people who had been encouraging me to run for the leadership, people with influence over different blocks of members, to think they should get in touch with me again.
Of course, they didn’t know that a few minutes after sitting down I was back in the black again. I left the meeting. I was feeling really bad again and I went back to my office, said to Vanessa, "I’m feeling crap. I don’t want to see anyone", closed the door and sat watching the wall.
LATER that morning, I got another two or three calls from people asking me if I had made up my mind. I said, "I’m still thinking about it, but I will give you an answer shortly," because I knew I was starting to look stupid.
The last thing I wanted to do was be dishonest, so I had to weigh up the consequences.
I still hadn’t told my three kids, any of the other staff, most of my work colleagues, my parents yet I was in a better frame of mind because I was starting to formulate a plan. I knew I had to take some action. I was just going through all the permutations and combinations and consequences, but I knew the critical thing was going public. all the rest would fall into place.
It would give me the freedom to deal with the side effects. People would understand that I wasn’t well. And I wanted to retain my integrity. I needed to be honest with people. I think it’s a lot easier for everybody if you tell them what’s going on.
It was complicated in this case because there’s a stigma attached to depression and I was very conscious of the conventional wisdom — that a mental disorder is seen as a character weakness — and politically that it could mitigate against me, no matter how well I recovered. but I couldn’t be cowed by that.
I ARRANGED to see Malcolm at 8.30 that night and told him everything. he was very good about it, as I expected he would be. I have known him a long time and he’s a decent fellow. We agreed I would take leave until Christmas from the shadow cabinet but stay in the parliament doing my electorate work. it gave me control over my agenda. I thought Ian Macfarlane was best placed to take over the climate change portfolio, and Malcolm spoke to him later that night.
Then I rang Laurie Oakes and arranged to meet him the next day. I wanted to see if he would consider writing a column.
Laurie has a big following across Australia in major News Limited weekend papers with huge circulations, and he is one of the most senior political journalists in the country. He’s highly respected, and I believed he was the best journalist for the job. I wanted to get the story out with some sort of history and context, as I didn’t want people thinking I was in a foetal position under the table. I thought Laurie would do a much better job writing the story than I could.
I TRAVELLED to Melbourne and called in unannounced to see my parents, Marie and Frank, in Reservoir on the Friday morning. I told them everything and explained that there would be an article about it the next day in the Herald Sun.
They are in their 80s and have nine kids and 34 grandchildren, so not much surprises them, but this took them a little unawares.
Except for my early years, I had always been quiet in the mornings, and although I hadn’t lived at home much since I was 17, they could see I had acted in a way that was consistent with what I was saying. My mother said I had been the happiest of all their nine children during childhood but had gone quiet in the mornings in my teens. They had put it down to the impact of adolescent hormones.
NEIL Mitchell was chasing me for an interview, and I decided I would do one live interview and leave it at that. People could then refer to either the column or the interview. Monday morning the adrenalin was coursing when I was on air, so I felt good. The message got out quickly and effectively.
It was important that I let the people in my electorate know. I have nearly 700 party members in my electorate, and it was vital that they had a clear idea of what was going on. Once I had done the interviews for the column and the radio, that was it. I didn’t want to do anything else until I had found an answer.
This is an edited extract from Black Dog Daze: Public Life, Private Demons by Andrew Robb, published by MUP on Monday ($34.99).
<a href="http://www.theaustralian.com.au/national-affairs/health-of-the-nation/mornings-the-darkest-time-of-day/story-fn9iqmqf-1226122668395tag:news.google.com,2005:cluster=http://www.theaustralian.com.au/national-affairs/health-of-the-nation/mornings-the-darkest-time-of-day/story-fn9iqmqf-1226122668395Fri, 26 Aug 2011 14:10:32 GMT 00:00″>Mornings the darkest time of day
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