How I Rescued My Brain by David Roland Page A

sorry for them: tied to nine-to-five jobs with no other options.
    As our wealth grew, we seemed to want, or even need, things that we had never needed before. I was keen on building a beach home. I wanted a retirement apartment by the sea for Anna’s mother and stepfather; overseas trips for us and the children, to have new cultural experiences; and the children’s future education expenses (no matter what or where they wished to study) to be met. I imagined stopping work altogether one day in the not-too-distant future, devoting my time to music, writing, or ‘good causes’.
    We had a multi-million-dollar property portfolio with lots of equity, but it was not self-supporting. The rental returns did not cover the outgoings — the largest being interest repayments. We had aimed for capital growth with the idea of selling down at some point to make it self-supporting and put cash in the bank. But after 2006, when I could no longer work, my income stopped. At first we were fine, relying on savings and drawing on the equity in our properties. Yet the reserve bank raised interest rates throughout 2007, and lenders raised their rates faster than the reserve bank, bleeding our funds for loan repayments. It kept going until early 2008, bringing the property market to a standstill. As fear gripped the nation with the onset of the GFC, and the market slid in value, people stopped buying in the face of the unknown, and credit dried up.
    With the economic recession now a reality, we had little other income. Forces outside of our control had us in a bind: we couldn’t sell, we couldn’t refinance, and we couldn’t meet our repayments. A prominent economist interviewed on television said that property values would fall by 40 per cent before the crisis was over. Such a fall would wipe out any equity we had left and leave us with loans we couldn’t repay. We could not see a way out.
    I decided that I would have to return to work. After all, I had gotten much better. But the more I contemplated a return, the more I got that old sense of dread.
    By December 2008, our funds had gone. We asked family members for loans so that we could put food on the table while we waited for our first property sale — in a dead market — to happen.
    The benefits of the therapy, swimming, music, the teaching with the Dalai Lama, and meditation seemed to vapourise. My jumpiness and nightmares returned. I was close to shutting down: so worn out by dealing with the calamity that was unfolding and with my deteriorating mental health. I wanted to walk away from it all, even though I knew that this would help no one.
    One afternoon, I was driving back from a new construction — started before the GFC had taken effect — after meeting with the architect and the builder. We’d argued over one of the contractors, who I felt had overcharged. Out of nowhere, I was hit by the strongest desire to drive off the highway at one hundred kilometres an hour, down a steep embankment — hopefully to a quick death. It was a vicious, uncaring world, and I couldn’t meet it head-on anymore. The past me, the strong me, the one that blinked after a setback and then got on with things, was gone.
    â€˜Stop! Stop!’ I shouted, to that part of me that was now being very scary. I needed it to stop carrying on like this, with this craziness.
    But the steering wheel coaxed me to the left, off the side of the road, the deep embankment promising deliverance.
    I tried reassurance: You’ll get through this. This feeling will pass .
    I tried alarm: Imagine how distraught Anna and the kids will be . I saw their shocked, unbelieving faces upon learning of my death. I saw my friends’ horror.
    I tried compassion: I would be letting everyone down; it would cause immense heartache.
    I tried a warped logic: What if it doesn’t work and you end up crippled, and can’t make a second attempt?
    I tried the radio: I had to get