Mental Health, Wellbeing and Fallen Brother Zaphael

"Precinct Omega" and everything it can be said to have achieved - modest as that is - began with a single step. And that step was a private message on the long-lost Conclave forums, a community for fans of Inquisitor, asking it I would accept a commission.

That commission began with a series of concept art sketches.

Eventually, it produced a miniature:

And I hope you're looking at this and thinking "hey, that's pretty good" because, honestly, I am. The concepts were possibly better than the end result, but for a first professional commission, I thought it was a pretty decent start.

However, that's really just the context of the story I wanted to tell, because what wasn't visible at the time that I was doing this work was how poor my mental health was at the time. I had recently left the Army, where I had been, in the most charitable interpretation of events, a poor fit. Too eccentric. Too intellectual. Honestly, too immature to really fit in with the culture and expectations.

And I decided that, instead of finding a job like a normal human being, I would try to join the ranks of commission miniatures painters, because what better idea than to make a living doing what I really loved?

This was a dreadful decision. We had just had our second child, who was born seriously ill. My wife had struggled through post-partum depression after the first one and, whilst the second had not come with the same impacts, it had taken a physical toll. My father-in-law, a wonderful man, had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and would soon die. And I was - though I would not realise it for another ten years after these events - severely depressed.

I thought depression was something obvious. I thought it meant being sad all the time, listless, unable to find enthusiasm for anything, unable to connect to the people around you. I always thought I would know if I was depressed. The reason that I thought I was a useless, worthless human being wasn't because I was depressed. It was because I was obviously a useless, worthless human being. I was still haunted by academic failure (having barely scraped a third-class degree) and professional failure (having failed to make a career in the Army). My wife was earning well but I knew that I could never do enough and my inability to be organised and structured was because I was a deeply flawed person who failed time after time to turn himself into someone worthy of love. I struggled to make or to maintain friendships because, obviously, I was not a person who was worth knowing or spending time with because I would always let people down.

I don't say this to elicit your sympathy. I am putting this down in writing because I want people to understand that depression, when you are inside it, doesn't feel like an aberration. It feels logically consistent. I thought that depressed people were, essentially "sad for no reason". I didn't realise that, in depression, the aberrant brain wil perceive in itself reasons to rationalise the experience of depression.

Now let me take the story back to where we began: with a 54mm Fallen Dark Angel, called Brother Zephael, Ancient of the 5th Chapter of the Dark Angels Legion.

You see, Zephael was finished and packed off it its happy new owner and I proceeded to try to begin a career as a commission miniatures painter. But, a few months later, during a house move, the owner broke him. Not to worry, said I. Send him back to me. I'll fix him up, touch up the paintwork and get him back to you. No charge.

The owner duly complied and I received Zephael back in four-ish pieces.

And that is how he remained for the next fifteen-ish years.

The owner was a busy man, successful and mobile internationally and he quickly forgot he had ever sent Zephael to me or, if he remembered, it was such a minor thing that chasing it up was a long way down his priority list.

But I never forgot.

Zephael followed me. I never packed him away, except to move house. He never left my hobby desk. He was a permanent physical reminder of my own state of brokenness, my failure, my inadequacy, my lack of worth. And the longer he lurked there, the more that sense became an integrated part of who I was: insufficient, worthless, incapable...

Now, this story has a happy ending. Don't panic. As many of you will be aware, we discovered a few years ago that I have ADHD (Inattentive Type). It's not, actually, a particular severe or extreme form of the condition. I don't need medicating, so long as I have my day-to-day coping strategies. But the more I understood my ADHD, the more I realized that my depression wasn't, in fact, depression. I had, by this time, become open about my depression and was working up to seeking medical help. But the diagnosis of ADHD transformed my understanding of myself. My depression wasn't clinical but functional. The depression was a side effect of my belief that I should act and behave like a neurotypical person and, when I couldn't do that, concluding that the fault was mine and that, if I only tried harder, gave more, took charge of myself, I would overcome it.

But learning that I had ADHD was like putting on glasses through which my own identity came into sharp focus. My academic failure, my inability to integrate into a military lifestyle, my struggles with motivation and enthusiasm... These were all completely normal aspects of ADHD that, had I known and had support, I could have overcome.

However, whilst this realization had an immediate impact on my sense of self-worth and the overall quality of my life and relationships, it wasn't an instant panacea for all my ills. I have still struggled with a number of challenges and issues, and to find a way forward. And there was Zephael, still in pieces. Still ownerless. Still mocking me with my failure.

Until now. Because, today, as part of Category 1 of my Epic Backlog, I have finished repairing and repainting Zephael. And I would like to introduce him to you again:

I have reached out to his owner (now based in Sydney and doing a very high-powered job for a household name international consulting company) in order to get Zephael back where he belongs.

Not broken. Not worthless. He will set out, once more, in pursuit of whatever destiny has dragged him across space and time, bearing the tattered remains of his chapter's banner and the legendary Aegis of the Lion, his imposing tower shield. He doesn't know where his journey will end or why. But his ancient mace glows red hot with the power of his faith.

Like him, my journey is far from over. But I wanted to tell this story because it felt important at a time when men's health and, in particular, their mental health is something we are trying to talk about more honestly and openly. I still struggle with friendships (that's not the ADHD; apparently, I might also be a touch autistic), so let me say that I consider all of you, reading this, to be my friends, whether you're a new patron who's only here to download some Horizon Wars content before cancelling your subscription next week, or someone who's been here from the start. So you are welcome to reach out if you're struggling. Join us on the Discord. Drop me a DM.

Be more Zaphael.