Oof, quite a big topic for so early on in this blog's (potentially short) life. Pull up a pew, and grab a cuppa.
I have bipolar disorder. Bipolar 2. I was diagnosed in 2016, so it's been with me for 9 years. 9 years of medication, therapy, new psychiatrists, periods of real struggle.
Here's a little secret: I'm actually writing this mid depressive episode. It's January 2025, and I am at some of the lowest depths I've ever reached.
Walking to see my lovely friend Emma in Hammersmith last week, a man approached me. I think I was actually crying at the time (bloody love crying in public), listening to some self indulgent music (maybe Coldplay? A bit of Birdy? ). I took off my headphones, and he said "look, I'm so sorry to stop you like this, but I've actually got nowhere to sleep tonight. I'm having a mental breakdown..."
I interrupted mid spiel...
"Oh my god, me too!"
Couldn't afford to buy him fags (and also couldn't face it, having given up 8 weeks prior), so he took 2 bottles of San Pellegrino and some chewing gum. And then... he just walked away? Rude.
Anyway, I think the stigma surrounding mental health is slowly dissipating, although there is clearly a long way to go, and the gendered dimension adds a layer of complexity. However there is still a dearth of understanding. We, as a society, are on our way to acceptance. Yet, understanding seems like something different entirely. My work, for example, have been phenomenally accepting and their support has been invaluable... But does John (not real names, don't worry) really understand the constant fear of being a slave to waves of emotion? I hope, for his sake, he doesn't.
My experience of bipolar has lent itself to the depressive side - I've only had 2 manic episodes in my life. The depressive ones, however, are utterly grueling and terrifying.
Weeks spent in bed (or out of bed in cases of agitated depression), not eating for days on end (or eating too much), not being able to sleep (or sleeping all day), not even managing to shower or brush one's teeth, let alone work. There is no universal depressive experience, which muddies the water when it comes to most people's understanding of the condition.
Depression, and depressive episodes, are particularly hard to understand. This may seem counter-intuitive, as they are the most overt and wide reaching display of mental health struggles. It's the fact that everyone, in their life, has felt sad. In most people's minds, sadness is depression right?
Not quite. It's one thing being devastatingly sad and flattened by the loss of a parent or partner. This, sadly, is an almost universal experience. But it's understandable sadness, sadness with a clear root cause. It's another thing entirely to wake up and think 'fuck. Here we go again', with no real rhyme or reason. When the episode is so severe it takes over your body; one's immune system is 3 x as compromised whilst experiencing depression. I was hospitalised for two raging ear infections off the back of my last episode. There's lots of emerging evidence about depression's inflammatory side effects, wreaking havoc on bones, joints, stomachs etc. Depression sufferers will relate to the body aches and tummy issues that accompany these times.
Bipolar is one of the trickiest diagnoses to medicate (as it has to control both the manic and depressive ends of the spectrum), and as such, it can be the most destructive. Having bipolar increases your risk of suicide by 20 x. Crazy stats. But amidst the gloom, whilst I feel darkness very deeply, I also feel joy very powerfully. Does that make it ok? No, but it is a small concession.
Promise this wasn't meant to be the current installment of the 'woe is me' diaries. Until recently I've heard of next to no actual experiences of people my age having bipolar, beyond quotes on the NHS and charity websites. Hoping this might reach at least one person who's in a similar boat to me, in these rough and unchartered waters.
Signing off, your professional nutjob x
p.s. Saw this today
Fucking awesome.
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