Wayne's Story - Mental Health Awareness

I was sad from the moment I was born. I cried a lot. But when I was growing up, no one really knew much about what was ‘wrong’ with me. They just put me on sedatives.

When you’re sad all the time, you really don’t know what’s normal. You have no benchmark. All I knew was that I felt better when I played sport. I felt better and I loved it. It was my escape. If it was raining the night before I was supposed to play sport, I would cry. When I wasn’t playing sport, I was just struggling to function.

At the start of high school, I was very tall but also very skinny, so I was an easy target. I was just miserable. My mum had to come down to the school at morning tea just so I could stay for the day. It was awful, and I didn’t know what was wrong. I just didn’t know why I felt like this.

Someone told me that playing rugby league for the local team would be a good way for me to make friends. So, I went and joined up. Luckily, from the very first time I touched the ball, I was really good at football.

And when I was playing, I was not miserable. What I’ve realized now is that I was getting endorphins. Exercise was helping treat my depression, and this connection between depression and sport became clear. Now, looking back on Wayne's story, it’s evident that sports played a crucial role in improving my mental health.

In 1976, I was picked for the first-grade team. I was 17. The first time in the sheds before the game was exciting but very scary. Running onto the field and hearing the crowd cheer was a massive adrenalin rush, a feeling that’s hard to replicate in life. Although I was technically good enough, it was a real shock to realize that I deserved my place on the team. 

On days when I struggled with depression and sport, I often found myself in the toilets crying. One day, before a game, while everyone was getting ready, I went and hid to cry for five minutes because I was overcome with sadness. I battled with low energy, and as anyone who has faced depression knows, when you're down, even walking 10 metres can feel impossible. Sometimes, I would lose all my strength just getting to the game, wishing I could fall asleep right there. 

I discovered that if I could last the first 15 minutes of the game without making a fool of myself, I would usually begin to feel better. I didn’t want to let my teammates down. I felt pressured to pretend I was okay all the time. By the time I got home, I would often shut my bedroom door, collapse, and sleep. 

Having suffered with sadness, anxiety, and even depression throughout my life, I had no benchmark of normality, leaving me unsure of what was right or what I should strive for. During this time, I started having thoughts of suicide, feeling tired of the relentless sadness. 

Yet, sport kept me afloat and motivated. I had many friends and maintained a fairly active lifestyle, although no one really talked about mental health. From the moment I woke up each morning, I felt sad, fearing I might live with this overwhelming sadness forever. I often thought, "What if I live for another 20 years? Can I make it?" This is part of Wayne's story, illustrating how the intersection of depression and sport can impact one's mental health.

I was only 27 when I retired from the game I loved, wanting to explore whether it was football that contributed to my feelings of despair. Knowing I wouldn’t survive a 9 to 5 job, I chose to join the fire brigade, where I felt I could hide my struggles. While there were intense moments of responding to fires and rescues, much of the time was spent in quieter periods, allowing for conversations. Every decision I made was centered around managing my depression and finding a way to survive.

For 10 years, I concealed my battle with depression from everyone: my colleagues, my wife, and my mother. The suicidal thoughts grew stronger, filling me with panic about living too long. Eventually, the weight became unbearable, leading to an attempt on my life.

At that time, my two sons were just 14 and 16. I was terrified of how they would perceive me, fearing I had ruined their lives. To my relief, they began to educate themselves about depression. They started discussing it openly, recognizing that depression is an illness that can be understood.

Now, my boys freely talk about mental health. If they are struggling, they confidently reach out for help.

After my attempt, I was diagnosed with depression. Unfortunately, the prescribed medication didn’t provide relief. Upon my release, I still felt incredibly unwell, and hope began to dwindle. I had lost my marriage and turned to heavy drinking, feeling trapped with no help in sight. I thought this was the only way I could live. Wayne's story is a testament to the struggles many face with depression and sport, illustrating the importance of seeking support and understanding.

Eventually, at Black Dog Institute, I was diagnosed with melancholia, a severe form of depression that can be challenging to identify. This correct diagnosis allowed me to receive medication that gradually improved my mental health, but I also learned to be disciplined in my approach to managing my condition. I realized that maintaining well-being is an ongoing effort; for me, depression will likely be a lifelong companion. I know I must take my medication and engage in sport regularly to help manage it.

I felt a bit different. I felt okay. It was probably the first time in my life that I’d experienced that feeling. It was amazing.

Although it didn’t last all day or extend into the next day, I caught a glimpse of what normal could be. I finally had a benchmark to aim for, which made me reflect on Wayne's story and how important it is to understand the connection between mental health and sport.

Some advice I received from a girl who also experienced melancholia was that every time she had a bad thought, she forced in two good ones. I started practicing this method, forcing good thoughts into my mind. I began to pat myself on the back for the positive things I accomplished and not just dwell on the negatives. I rewarded myself for small steps and learned to respect myself for having an illness, understanding that I shouldn’t hate myself for it. This journey also led me to explore the connection between depression and sport, realizing how physical activity can aid mental health. 

Eventually, I began volunteering for the Black Dog Institute, delivering presentations to community groups and schools about my own lived experience, which I like to refer to as Wayne's story. I mainly aimed to explain that depression is an illness, and once people recognize that, they often find a way out of it, which is a tremendous relief. Sharing my story and giving back has truly been a source of healing.

I’m grateful because I’m not scared to go and talk to ‘blokey’ audiences, and when I started 8 years ago no one was doing it. I think it helps that I was a league player. People don’t perceive me as being weak because I’m not physically weak, but then I’m honest and say, “depression makes me cry like a baby.” A lot of people think mental health makes them weak, but that is so wrong. They’re the toughest people in the world. 

I’ve spoken to miners, who haven’t heard much about mental health, who are more resistant to hearing about the topic. Surprisingly, some of the toughest guys in the room got up and said they were struggling. 

I’ve also been involved in Country Rugby League, where we go to remote towns and present to the local sporting teams about depression and sport. We put money towards their clubs if they can get 80% of their players there to take away any excuse to not turn up. I can’t tell you how many people have got up and sought help straight after one of the presentations. 

As well, I’ve done some work with the NRL to teach the players the signs and symptoms of depression, how to check in with their mates, and where to seek help. Every player from under 16 and up is now well educated about mental health. The motto is: ‘It takes a tough man to live with it, but it takes a tough man to put his hand up.’ And from what I’ve seen in the last four or five years, this message is really working, which is part of Wayne's story.