I first knew something was wrong when I was taking my A levels back in the late 70s. There was a lot of pressure on me to perform well and I was set to take the Oxbridge entrance exam. There was a long journey from a sense that something deep within wasn't right to diagnosis of a mental health issue.
At University I was quite up and down mostly dependent on how many parties I had been invited to, what narcotics I had indulged in and 'boy' stuff. In my twenties working as a radio journalist in London I lived a strange mix of months as a wild and popular party girl and months as a deeply depressed social recluse who vaguely managed to drag herself into work to perform broadcasting duties. I resisted diagnosis and medication. A doctor did give me a prescription for anti-depressants but I threw it away. I went the route of talk therapy and floundered around getting various recommendations and visiting a series of unsatisfactory therapists.
When I couldn't take it any more I was fortunate to be able to run off to California and stay with my oldest friend, who was living in LA. The whole excitement triggered me into a massive high. My beloved friend had quite a handful with manic me on hand. We are still best friends to this day God love her. One little insight into manic behaviour - on a fairly mild level - that I can remember from that time was when I ended up arguing with her saying that it was actual, real lava that was in lava lamps. Sara was trying to talk sense to me but I was having none of it. Lava lamps contained real lava as far as I was concerned and that was the end of it.
After LA I studied and worked for a while in Berkeley, where I had my first 'psychotic' experience. I thought I had caused the strange warm wind that was blowing and I had caused all the computers to crash at my workplace. I was wandering the streets at 5am inviting road sweepers to a non-existent party. It was scary. Eventually I let my therapist get me admitted to a psychiatric hospital in San Francisco where I was soon transferred from the open to the locked side of the unit. Unlike anything we do in the UK (praise God) I was actually put in 'isolation' in a room and strapped to a bed. The most horrific and terrifying experience to someone who already feels pretty terrified and weird I can tell you. It was there that I received my bipolar diagnosis and was put on medication.
I continued to have inpatient stays in the UK on my return. The worst ever time was being separated from my two small children and sectioned when we lived in Scotland. My husband was amazing, looking after them and keeping it all together while I was very unwell.
The other crucial part of my story is that while living in Scotland I had an amazing God encounter and became a Christian. I was baptised in Selkirk swimming pool in 2005. With God as my rock and foundation, I live a full and recovered life. My default settings are peace and joy not rollercoaster. I still take mood stabilisers but bipolar no longer defines me. It is very much in the background.
I have been involved in setting up a mental health support group Peace of Mind at my church and it is my ministry to help others, if I can, walk through some of the stuff that I have experienced. My marriage and family, through all the challenges, has survived. The small children are now teenagers and memories of me in hospital are pretty distant.
I have always always been open and talked about my mental health, because I passionately believe that until people are open mental illness will remain scary and there will be stigma. That is why I write this week to share a little glimpse into my story.
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