It's 19 years since I received my official diagnosis of what was back in those days called 'manic depression'. In my 20s in London I spent half my life (a few months at a time) as party girl. I was working as a radio journalist, living in Notting Hill, going to The Globe (a low key, trendy club - yummy food upstairs, downstairs into dark red smoky gloom for music and dancing), hanging out at the Ministry of Sound and Subterranea, and driving about in my British Racing Green Lotus Elan, otherwise known as 'baby'. At night with her dials all lit up red, there was nothing quite like cruising down the Kings Road in baby.
Ah but the other months. They were quite different. Alone at home, totally miserable, I was unable to take pleasure in anything. Gloom descended and that was it. I dragged myself to work at Broadcasting House and spent many a miserable hour hanging out the window on the fourth floor chain smoking.
In summer 1992 I summoned the energy to DO something. I fled to California to stay with my oldest, dearest friend who was married, living and working in Los Angeles. By the time I landed in the U.S. my low had become a high....and oh what fun I had. For a while.
I ended up in the Bay Area - doing a course in Culture and Creation Spirituality. I wrote a thesis about depression as spiritual awakening. I also faced another episode of deep dark depression, stocking up on sleeping pills, thinking how good it would be not to exist.
Of course I eventually came out into the light again - and still at this time - I had had no diagnosis, just a lot of talk therapy. By early 1994 my illness shifted into another gear. I had finished my course and moved with friends into Berkeley. There's all sorts of details but in short, I became psychotic. I was wandering about Berkeley at 5 in the morning in my party dress talking to roadsweepers and thinking I was going to some big party somewhere. There was an unusual warm wind - I thought I'd caused it. So many stories - but my friends (Peter Higgs son and his wife actually....forgive the name dropping but so chuffed about his nobel prize) - drove me to my therapist Suzy - I was past being able to drive Bertie (my fab old bright yellow Dodge Dart). Suzy asked if I wanted to go to hospital. I was so scared I surrendered, it didn't seem there was another option. So there I was - Cambridge graduate - admitted to the Langley Porter Hospital in San Francisco. Somehow that wasn't how it was meant to be. I was under the impression that a Cambridge degree led to a life of glittering prizes. Wrong. On arrival at Langley Porter I was bemused to say the least. I have a vague memory of conspiring with some guy called 'Randy' (naturally) to try and smoke - it wasn't allowed - but before I knew it I was transferred from the open to the locked unit - and put in 'isolation'.
But - and it's a big but - that is all in the past. It's been a hell of journey - from prolonged suicidal misery - to the awesome high of experiencing the amazing music and beauty of creation in a weird and wonderful way.
In 1995 I met my husband - back in Yorkshire. My lovely D has stuck by me - with great difficulty - through IT ALL (and still does). We have two amazing children - now 14 and 12. In the past 10 years - to my great surprise God has come into my life and turned it around. He is doing a work in me, He has a great plan for me, to prosper me and not to harm me. He has given me NOT a spirit of fear, but a Spirit of power and of love and a sound mind ( from 2 Timothy 1:7) Amen to that.
I praise God for the wonderful campaigning work of the charity Bipolar UK - which supports and campaigns for Bipolar sufferers and their carers. Happy 30th Birthday Bipolar UK - and thank you
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| An 'up' day, cruising in 'baby' |
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| Dancing the night away at my 30th - on a high after months of depression |
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