Month: February 2017

Why Mental Health Awareness should be taught in Schools

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I think it’s apt to say that my teenage years were complete and utter shite. My self esteem was severely low and I went from a bright, confident child to a throughly depressed teenager. I was diagnosed with depression when I was fourteen. I was what’s called a ‘school refuser.’ I enjoyed school; I wanted to spend time with my friends and I really loved to learn, but my mind was bogged down with negativity and I felt paralysed. It went from simply refusing to get out of bed to locking myself in the bathroom and threatening to hurt myself if I was sent to school.

As a fourteen year old I didn’t understand I was was depressed. Mental health awareness was not taught in schools so I had little to no knowledge of what was happening to me. I didn’t possess the emotional literacy to adequately explain my feelings. Emotional literacy gives children and young people the vocabulary to explain when something is going wrong inside their minds. The lack of this is why so many children act out and cause disruption, or insulate themselves and remain silent.  I believe that I was depressed for some time before my family realised what I was battling with. For over a year I had become more and more withdrawn and would isolate myself in my room. My personality changed abruptly from a cheerful young girl to one with a crippling anxiety and a overwhelming depression. The general feeling I had during this time was emptiness. I was more than deeply unhappy, I simply didn’t care about anything. We tell people all the time that ‘I don’t care’ or ‘I can’t be bothered’ and that’s a problem when you’re a teenager with depression. Everyone thinks you’re acting normally; like a sullen teenager.

My mood sunk further and deeper and I hardly spoke to anyone. I began to completely shut down and closed myself off from everyone and everything. I have heard people use the analogy of feeling trapped in mud or quicksand, but I couldn’t see, couldn’t move. There was no will to escape so I couldn’t feel trapped. I would best describe it as my little universe was slowly shrinking. The stars were one at a time blinking out of existence. There was no grand magnificence in their end, or a stricken implosion of matter; they simply disappeared. It didn’t matter to me that they were missing because it was my mind quietly brushing them away. I eventually received therapy and I found my voice; I was finally given the gift of emotional expression.

When I was at school, awareness lessons were preoccupied with drugs and sex. These were seen as the major problems for young people, and the mantras of “drugs are bad!” and “wear a condom!” were shoved down our throats. There was never any mention about coping with our mental health, or how to look out for the warning signs. Mental health should be taught in all schools, and it is the Governments responsibility to make that happen. It could truly save lives.

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Missing Medication: Withdrawal and Side Effects

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It’s been around four months now that my psychiatrist has been telling my GP that I don’t need to see her every time I need a new prescription. It’s a situation that has been causing me a great deal of stress as it is nigh on impossible to see my doctor before I run out of medication. The first time I mentioned this to my psych he told me he had met with the doctors at a couple of GP surgeries to discuss this exact problem. My doctor has appeared to ignore this suggestion. The last time I went to see my psych he demanded in the update letter about my appointment that I should be given a repeat prescription, and that my GP and I should instead schedule regular ‘check ups’ to discuss how I was feeling and to discuss blood test results, if needed. It appears this information has not sunk in and my frustration with my doctor has manifested into full blown anger.

So inevitably, I ran out before I had a chance to see my doctor – any doctor – at the surgery. In the end I missed four days of aripiprazole and two days of lamotrigine. I must admit that missing so many days was partly my fault; at one point I simply gave up. Withdrawal is dreadful. I started experiencing tremors that became increasingly obvious. The tremors I could handle, I’ve had them before and I’ve only ever seen them as a mild irritation. I became utterly exhausted, with every task seemingly impossible. It felt like a bout of flu, actually worse than the flu. I somehow, as I often do in these situations, manage to carry on, much to the detriment to my overall health. There were times where I could barely keep my eyes open, and even now my eyes and head are pulsing with a haze of tiredness that refuses to dissipate. Then it gets a tad confusing. I’ve started taking the meds again and now I can’t distinguish what were just withdrawal symptoms and which are side effects; they seem to have overlapped. Now I still feel exhausted, but also nauseous, that has lead to bouts of vomiting. I can barely eat and I’m feeling constantly worn out with a large dollop of sickness to top it all off. And I can’t sleep, what has left me feeling so desperate I was shouting at myself at 3 in the morning. I just want to sleep and wake up feeling refreshed; not feeling that I’m going to throw up. So let me explain how this all came about.

A huge annoyance is how difficult it is to arrange an appointment to begin with. I’m fed up with tiresome phone calls to an engaged line, that then rings endlessly once I’ve got through. The problem is the surgery I’m registered with is ridiculously over subscribed, to the point where they are no longer taking on new patients. If I don’t ring at exactly 8 on a Monday morning I won’t get an appointment. There have been times when I’ve been sat waiting for the engaged tone to finally end, only to speak to a receptionist who informs me all appointments have now been booked for that day. I have to ring back on a Wednesday, or a Friday, or even the next week, where I might, just might, manage to see a doctor. It feels like I’ve entered a lottery each time I make the dreaded phone call.

Last time I managed to see my GP I told her about the problems I’d been having booking in. She was very sympathetic and to my surprise, was able to arrange an appointment to see her in four weeks time, there and then. However this meant I would receive my medication a few days before I ran out. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, I was just so pleased I wouldn’t have to deal with the stress of arranging to see her. She cancelled the appointment. I was furious. Marching up to the receptionist, trying to keep my cool, I demanded to see a doctor the next day, this was an emergency I said. I was told in explicit terms that it was not an emergency, or even a priority and I would have to ring them tomorrow. The next day, no appointments available. Christmas was looming and I was becoming increasingly desperate. The doctor I eventually saw was fantastic, and I intend to ask to see this GP instead of the one I’m registered with. What really upsets me is how dangerous this practice is. What if my mood (that has recently been more on the manic side) had made me decide that I just wouldn’t bother taking the meds anymore. What if this had caused an intense mania, a psychotic episode or a bout of severe depression?

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Planning a wedding and staying well with Bipolar

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Bipolar and excitement don’t always mix well. Bipolar and stress especially don’t mix well.  Add these together and you’re looking at a full blown manic or depressive episode, or both. Planning a wedding has to be on the top of the list for both of these, and I decided to put myself through this a year and a half ago.

I put it upon myself to have a DIY wedding. The reception was to be in a barn, with access to fields surrounding it for us all to camp in the evening.  I decided to make all the decorations, the bouquet, everything. My Pinterest was brimming with images of wedding dress ideas, table decorations, and general decor for the reception. I would be up till four in the morning looking at lego figures to give to guests as favours (yes I’m a nerd)

This probably sounds pretty normal for a bride to be. However, I was on the cusp of a full blown manic episode, and I knew it. I gave into it, and became utterly obsessed with finding unique objects, or creating my own for the wedding. I spent a disastrous amount of money and fell into debt. I wouldn’t except help from anyone else, I was so determined that I could do it all.

I knew this feeling of euphoria wouldn’t last and of course, as it always does, it came crashing down. I recognised I had given myself far too much to do and enlisted the help of my mum and bridesmaids. They banded together with my mum generally organising, Clare making the bouquets, Vicki the boutonnieres and Hannah a shawl for me and allowing us to use her sewing machine to make bunting. How I thought I could decorate an entire barn that could fit over two hundred people is only known by the manic version of myself. I also gave in and allowed my fiancee access to some of the planning! He organised a sound system and found friends and family to create playlists for the day.

A special mention has to go out to Jo, from the Couture Company in Birmingham. I trawled the internet looking for someone that could bring my vision to reality. She is an amazing designer, and my dress was truly unique. I’m not very body confident, but she made me feel beautiful in that dress.

The day was a huge success and friends still refer to it as the wedding. I really should mention my husband, Jimi, who supports me through the difficult times. He confronts my illness with a calmness and assuredness that we will get through it together. As my Dad said in his speech, he is a true gentle man.

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My Experiences of Mental Health Crises Care

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Earlier this month I completed a questionnaire for the Care Quality Commission, regarding mental health crisis care.

A mental health crisis can include:

  • suicidal behaviour
  • panic attacks
  • psychotic episodes
  • Irrational behaviour that could lead to a person endangering themselves

My experience with crisis care began when I was severely depressed. I had left a job and was unemployed, living off Employment Support Allowance and Disability Living Allowance. The medication I was taking was not working out for me. I didn’t feel very stable and I had fluctuated from a manic phase in the summer to a depressive state in the autumn, with moments of rapid cycling where I hardly knew what mood I was experiencing. I wanted to switch medication again but my psychiatrist had wanted to give it more time.

I remember that my mood started to plummet further than I could have imagined. I became suicidal. I’m stubborn and don’t like asking for help, so I had never rung the crisis number given to me by my psychiatrist. The day had come when I needed to. I had spread my medication over a table and cried hysterically staring at the tiny pills. Luckily for me, my mum turned up at the door. She had been checking on me nearly everyday during the week when my boyfriend was at work since I had been struggling. She saw the state I was in and instantly said,

“You need to ring the crisis team.”

I rang the number. A woman answered with a brisk tone. I couldn’t catch what she had said so I put the phone down. Often if I am very depressed I find it difficult to keep up with a fast paced conversation and at that moment the voice on the end of the line was speaking far too quickly for my sluggish mind to process. Second try, same voice, but this time I managed to hear the words ‘mental health.’ I blurted out,

“I need to talk to someone, now. I want to kill myself.” The voice responded with,

“Ah, you must be trying to get hold of the person on duty for the crisis team today. This is the wrong number, this is the admin team, they’re on another extension. I’ll give you the number.” I grabbed the nearest pen and the back of an envelope and shakily wrote down the number. I had to ask her to repeat it several times as she rattled off the numbers, much to her annoyance from the tutting I could hear. I took a deep breath and dialled again. I got through to the crisis care team and again, through sobs and deep breaths explained what was happening to me. A man with a calm, official voice asked for my name. There was a pause. The response was,

“Ok Katie, I need to go and look up your file. I will call you back.” He hung up. This man who works for the so called ‘crisis team’ hung up on a psychiatric patient who had moments ago explained to him that she wanted to commit suicide no, not wanted to, was about to. I had to wait fifteen minutes. You can imagine that for someone on the verge of taking their own life, fifteen minutes feels like a fucking endless, incredibly agonising time to wait. The phone rang and I picked it up immediately. The voice said,

“Katie I have looked through your files and see that you are on prescribed medication; resperidone for Bipolar disorder. I suggest that you continue taking the medication and you should soon start to feel better.” And that was it. If I had been on my own at that point I believe I would have tried to take my own life, I was so lucky and grateful that I wasn’t. My mum couldn’t get much sense out of me, so she sprang into action and rang my psychiatrists’ office and managed to book an appointment for me for the following day. I wasn’t left alone for the rest of the day, with my boyfriend coming home early from work to look after me.

When I met with my psychiatrist, I told him what had happened. He sat and listened and then replied that I wasn’t the first person to complain this month. Another of his patients’ had had a negative experience with crisis care. He told me that he would tell them of his concerns for the welfare of his patients and that in the meantime if I had an emergency to ring his office straight away. His professionalism and genuine concern for my well being improved my view of mental health services after such an awful experience. I have never phoned the crisis team again, instead choosing to reach out to psychiatrist or gp.

I felt that it was my duty to contact the Care Quality Commission. Such irresponsible and negligent care could easily cost a person their life. I had someone with me, but many others go through a crisis alone. Crisis care provided by local NHS services are exactly that – for people, their friends or family to contact. When urgent and life threatening symptoms have emerged, people need to feel confident and secure in contacting crisis care.

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101 Things Nobody Tells you about Bipolar

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  1. It is more than just happy or sad
  2. Bipolar is a complex long term condition
  3. Sufferers all have slightly different periods of depression, hypomania, mania and stability
  4. Depression will be severe and unrelenting
  5. A depressive episode could last months
  6. A hypomanic or manic episode could last months
  7. Mania is not always fun
  8. Mania makes you feel irritable and restless to a point where you can no longer sleep
  9. Sometimes mania will make you scratch and pick at your skin
  10. Sleep deprivation is agony
  11. Mania is dangerous, for you and those trying to help you
  12. You will have no fear
  13. Fights will start with random people because you have no filter to what you say
  14. You will get run over because you believe cars should stop for you
  15. Driving will be reckless and you will crash your car many times
  16. When manic, you’ll drink and take other drugs excessively
  17. You will drink a bottle of whisky in your flat alone just because you want to
  18. When you’re manic you’ll want sex all the time.
  19. You will wake your partner up at four in the morning because you want sex
  20. You will begin wild and whimsical projects that will take over your life
  21. These projects will be left unfinished when mania turns to depression
  22. You will be able to concentrate on projects for hours on end
  23. Projects will be so important you’ll stay up all night – and then the next night
  24. You will forget to eat for days at a time
  25. You will not eat because you have more important things to do
  26. You will lose the ability to understand the concept of money when you’re manic
  27. You will constantly be in debt
  28. You will spend hundreds of pounds on a pair of shoes anyway because you’re manic
  29. Mania comes with it’s own special variety of intense anger that can’t be satiated
  30. You will punch holes in the wall so you don’t punch someone you love
  31. You will trash your possessions because the anger is too much
  32. Relationships will end because of your Bipolar
  33. The anger will cause you to lash out and hurt the people closest to you
  34. Anger will cost you many opportunities; in education and your career
  35. Bipolar is accompanied by other disorders
  36. Anxiety will cause panic attacks that come out of nowhere
  37. Panic attacks will cause you so much pain you’ll end up in hospital
  38. You may develop an eating disorder alongside bipolar
  39. The combination of bulimia and bipolar sees your weight fluctuate dramatically over the years
  40. Psychosis can happen when you’re manic or depressed
  41. Psychosis when you’re manic can spur you on to do even more dangerous things
  42. Hearing noises that you search for and can’t find is beyond frustrating
  43. You will spend hours looking for a meowing cat that doesn’t exist
  44. Psychosis when you’re depressed is terrifying
  45. You will ask yourself ‘is this behaviour normal?’ ten times a day when you’re stable
  46. When stable you will doubt yourself everyday
  47. Sometimes you will secretly wish to be manic again
  48. The come down from mania to depression will make you suicidal
  49. After a manic episode ends, you will be completely and utterly exhausted
  50. This exhaustion will lead to physical illnesses
  51. You will take more time off school/work than any of your classmates/colleagues
  52. You will be constantly trying to stabilise and stay that way
  53. Depression will be all consuming
  54. You will spend days at a time in bed
  55. You will spend days, weeks, or months in a haze
  56. Your memory and concentration will be impaired
  57. There will be whole swathes of time you don’t remember
  58. Suicide will feel like the only way out
  59. You won’t wash for days on end
  60. You won’t brush your teeth for days on end
  61. Your hair will be matted and greasy
  62. You won’t be able to complete the most basic of tasks
  63. Your home will become dirty and untidy but you won’t be able to clean
  64. You will feel incredibly guilty that your home is a mess
  65. Sometimes you will feel so empty you won’t be able to cry
  66. Sometimes you will feel too much and won’t be able to stop crying
  67. When you’re alone you’ll want someone to be by your side
  68. When you’re with someone all you want is to be alone
  69. You will recall an relive every mistake you have ever made
  70. All your negative memories will resurface and you won’t be able to stop thinking about them
  71. You will need twelve hours sleep every night and will still feel tired when you wake up
  72. You will be desperately tired but won’t be able to sleep
  73. Medication is not a magic wand
  74. Therapy is not a magic wand
  75. You cannot escape side effects
  76. You will encounter side effects that cause weight gain
  77. You will encounter side effects that make you feel like a zombie
  78. You will encounter side effects that make your hands tremor
  79. There will come a time when you will choose between two disruptive side effects – the lesser of two evils
  80. There will be times when you will stop taking medication because you can’t stand the side effects
  81. Withdrawal symptoms are worse than the flu
  82. Your condition will make you feel isolated and alone
  83. Hearing people say ‘I’m so Bipolar!’ will set your teeth on edge
  84. People will compare you to characters from tv and film depicted with Bipolar
  85. You will answer ‘I’m fine’ when you feel desolate inside
  86. You will answer ‘I’m fine’ so as not to cause a fuss
  87. You will worry about people finding out and thinking you’re mad
  88. You will worry about telling friends and family for fear they won’t understand
  89. Some people, who might be family or friends, will never understand
  90. The acknowledgement you will never be able to change their opinions of the disorder is heartbreaking
  91. You will worry about disclosing at interview or when you start a job, because they may find an excuse not to employ you
  92. At one point you may end up on long term sick or having to leave a job entirely
  93. You will lie about why you are off sick
  94. You will worry about telling your employer in case they don’t understand
  95. You will feel deeply ashamed the first time you claim benefits
  96. Relying on your partner for money will tear your pride apart
  97. It will take years for you to be diagnosed
  98. You will be tested for every physical ailment linked to depression and tiredness, except for Bipolar
  99. Mental health professionals will have differing opinions about your care
  100. When feeling stable you will feel like a fraud and believe there was never anything wrong with you
  101. You will have to adjust to the idea of living with the disorder for the rest of your life

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Beginning my Novel

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I’ve taken the plunge and decided to write a novel. It’s been swirling around in my head for years, the idea of it, but now I’m in a place where I can put my head down and begin.

This isn’t foreign territory for me; I studied creative writing at University and have begun novels before. Unfortunately, I have never finished one, and I put that down to having Bipolar. About six years ago I was in the mire of novel writing and forty thousand plus words deep. It was a fiction fantasy novel and I felt very positive about how it was forming. My mind began to play tricks on me and I was plagued with self doubt. I started to believe that everything I had written was intrinsically flawed, that I was a pathetic failure who had deluded myself into believing I could write. I deleted it all. There were no backups, only a few hand written notes scrawled in a notebook.

After the depression lifted I was devastated at what I had done. I hadn’t been thinking clearly at all and when the haze lifted I couldn’t believe it had all gone. All that work, hours of effort and concentration for nothing. Now I always have backups of all the writing  I’m working on, incase it happens again.

This time the novel will be non fiction and focusing on my experiences of living with Bipolar disorder. It will have a different style to my blog, with more descriptive metaphorical elements.

I will add regular updates on my progress here on the blog, more than anything to keep myself in check and on task.

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My Journey so Far, Living with Bipolar Disorder

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I was diagnosed with Bipolar Affective Disorder in December 2012. I believe that I had been ill for ten years previously with this illness. As a teenager, I was very sullen, and my parents’ believed I was just being a teenager; quiet, unapproachable and moody. However these everyday moods of a teenager slowly manifested into a full blown mental illness. I started refusing to go to school and became a remote, isolated figure at home. I managed to see a child psychologist, who’s kind and approachable demeanour allowed me to open up and discuss my troubling thoughts. After six months, I was able to return to school full time and continue my education. Here are my thoughts on Why Mental Health Awareness should be taught in Schools

At sixteen years old and back at school my personality changed. The juxtaposition between my previous low mood and despairing thoughts to my then heightened excitement and confidence was more than obvious. I loved my new brazen self, and had a sense of belief in myself and my abilities I had never had before. This, looking back now, was my first cycle from depression to mania and what shocks me is how strikingly obvious my condition was, but no one saw it. My family and friends were happy that I was no longer ill, so it seemed, and that I was enjoying life.

Throughout my twenties I switched from severe depression to mania and back again. I didn’t know myself and never understood how and why my moods were so extreme. Was I an introvert or an extrovert? Was I short tempered or patient? Was my personality intense or relaxed? Did I have a positive or negative view of life? I seemed to be all of these things at one point or another. My life was full of extremes and reactionary; my moods governed my relationships, my education, my career choices. I could never plan what I wanted to do with my life because there was always the fear that my depression or manic, self destructive behaviour would scupper them. I started University bursting with creativity and hyperactivity. I barely slept, I barely ate. I was constantly partying, studying or working. It all came crashing down and I had to leave because of the severity of depression I found myself suffering from. This then became a pattern; I would recover from depression and switch to a hypomanic or manic state. I would achieve a great deal of things before the bubble would burst and I would be crippled by low mood. I came to believe I had a self destructive personality and that I was doomed to have to constantly reinvent myself and my life.

Numerous appointments were made with my GP, when I was in the throes of depression. I often felt suicidal and wanted to harm myself. I would take antidepressants and my mood would rocket upwards; the medication they were giving me made me feel invincible. I now know what I was being prescribed was wrong for me, and was triggering manic episodes. Manic episodes caused me to have terrible bouts of irritability and anger. I would lash out at my current partner and relationships would fall apart. After the mania had subsided, I would realise how alone and isolated I was and that I was the cause of relationships to break down.

After being diagnosed, I still continued to struggle. It took years to find the right combinations of medication to help me feel stable. Either the medications worked, but I couldn’t stand to live with the side effects, that left me feeling chronically tired, or the medication helped solve one extreme mood, but not the other. Depression would appear from nowhere and overwhelm me, causing me to have suicidal thoughts and to have auditory hallucinations. My Experiences of Mental Health Crises Care After nearly two years out of work because of the severity of my mood swings I returned to a less pressurised job and found myself in a stable, long term relationship, despite my struggles.

My advice to others who have an inkling that they may have Bipolar disorder or a similar mood disorder is to keep a mood diary. The main reason I wasn’t diagnosed for ten years is because I only went to see a doctor when I was severely depressed; not when I was manic. If you keep a mood diary and fill it in everyday, look back at it when you feel well and stable. Stability often shines a light on my manic episodes and having those extreme moods written down would have highlighted the problems for me. I would have had evidence written in front of me that my moods were not normal; that I wasn’t emotionally stable. Take your mood diary with you to a doctor’s appointment and rase your concerns with them. Be persistent. My experiences have shown me that you have to keep going to see a doctor again and again to be treated seriously or referred for therapy or a psychiatrist. Take a family or friend with you who know what you’re going through if it’s difficult to articulate how you’re feeling.

I’m currently going through a difficult stage of depression. and hope that this subsides. I know that Bipolar disorder is a long term illness and I have to be regimented in taking my medication and taking care of myself. A lack of sleep, high alcohol consumption and stress are all triggers for my depression and mania to flare up. I am much more open and honest about my condition now which has definitely helped me confront and accept my diagnoses. I see a psychiatrist regularly, and I am seeing a psychologist to help me deal with more ingrained thoughts I have that could have a negative impact on my illness.

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How my cat plays a vital role in my mental well being

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In 2012, I was very poorly. My depression had evolved into a sneering, unrelenting monster, ready to tear me to shreds. I was done. I didn’t want to live anymore. I was spending most days alone, with nothing to focus my mind. My partner was at work during the day and could occasionally work from home, but it wasn’t enough. Suffering from hallucinations and suicidal thoughts I wanted it all to end. Here I blog about My Experiences of Mental Health Crises Care

It just so happened that my partner came home one day and told me about his colleague’s cat that had given birth to kittens. I knew in that instant that a kitten would give me something to focus on, that maybe could pull me out of this depression, and we went to see them. We decided to choose the kitten that first tentatively, shakily, walked towards us, and gave us a curious sniff and let out a tiny mew. She was still very young and we had to feed her milk from a pipette. We decided to call her Matilda, after my favourite children’s book.

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I have to admit that she is not the friendliest cat to outsiders, as many of our friends and family would attest to! With pretty much anyone that isn’t my partner or I, she will hiss and growl and most probably take a swipe at them! I like to think she is only being territorial, and looking out for us and our home. She will let me pick her up, but only when she is in the right mood; otherwise she will struggle, twist and turn and contort her little body to try and free herself! This is where the nickname ‘MatildaFish’ came from, which has shortened to ‘TillyFish’ because of how she wriggles like a fish!

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I’m not sure what it is about animals, but they tend to know when something isn’t right. Whenever I’m feeling ill Matilda will sit on me, not unusual for a cat you might think, but Matilda is not a lap cat, she prefers to sit alongside you. So, when she does sit on you, it’s on her terms alone. The picture below is an example of this, taken about three weeks ago. I was again travelling through a very difficult period of depression, and I was riddled with despair and anxiety. Having this purring contented lump lay on me calmed me for awhile, and helped me through a difficult evening. This is one of many instances where this little fluff ball has saved me from myself and given me that glimmer of hope I needed.

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You can find more pictures of little TillyFish over on twitter where I exclaimed this a few weeks after we brought her home. Although I don’t actually believe this, I do believe that animals can play an important, therapeutic role when we are mentally ill.

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Doubting Myself – Hearing Voices

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A symptom of my Bipolar disorder is hearing voices. Sometimes the voices can be engaging, comforting and dynamic. These are the times I enjoy the most, when the voices spur on my mania and lead me to experiences I would never have attempted before. There is a darker side. Sometimes the voices can be terrifying. Hearing voices doesn’t sound like an internal monologue, but feel completely separate from my own mind. They are so clear and concise I often don’t realise they are coming from the inside of my own head.

The scariest moment for me has to have been from February last year. I was working in the town centre and would walk to and from work everyday. It was a fifteen minute walk along a bustling, vibrant street. I live near this busy street, full of shops and people walking to and fro. I walk down this street nearly everyday and rarely feel intimidated. I enjoyed putting in my headphones, putting my head down and marching home. It gave me a chance to breathe and relax after a busy shift. I remember that for some reason my music had stopped and I was busy fiddling with my phone trying to fix the problem. At the time I was depressed. It was the beginning of an episode that would culminate into a severe depression that would leave me bereft of happiness and not being able to function for over a month. It was dark and the road was busy with traffic. I heard a voice from behind me, that said in a vindictive, sneering tone,

“I’m going to strap you down and rape you bitch.”

I turned around but there was nobody there. It was horrific. I looked around again, but the nearest people to me would not have been audible. I carried on walking, hurriedly now, jumping out of my skin when a woman walked past me. I had forgotten all about the music I had wanted to listen to. I could feel my heart rapidly beating in my chest. I was on the verge of tears; the two options to what had happened were both unthinkable. I was so certain someone had uttered such a vile statement. I convinced myself somebody must have been behind me. I imagined a hooded figure walking past me after the incident, so I could tell my partner that there had been someone behind me. I didn’t want to be crazy. I didn’t want to feel out of control, unable to do anything about what I was hearing. I didn’t want my partner to think I was insane, to look at me in a different light, to be afraid of me, or afraid of what the voices might tell me to do. It’s a horribly intrusive feeling to think your own mind is sabotaging and scaring you. I carried on walking home for the next ten minutes with this all circling my mind. I felt more vulnerable than I had ever felt in my life. Scared of both the outside and my own internal world. When I arrived home I told my partner what had happened and he convinced me to ring the police. I was reticent to do so as I was still in two minds as to whether what had happened was real; but it was real to me. Something cruel and vicious had invaded my mind, like my mind had been robbed. I felt violated, but my own mind was the culprit.

The police arrived and I gave an awkward, embarrassed statement. I explained what I had heard and gave a vague description of a figure that had quickly walked past me. I wasn’t lying about the voice. I had heard it, but by now I had convinced myself it wasn’t real. I felt ashamed that I had lied about seeing someone behind me and that I had wasted police time in making this statement. One of the police officers looked confused and commented that it was an odd situation to happen on such a busy street. I could feel myself turning red, my ears becoming hot. I didn’t know what to say in return. I felt too ashamed to admit what had really happened, that I suffered from Bipolar and occasionally heard voices. I didn’t admit to my partner for a long time that I definitely believed I had been hearing voices. I eventually did and remarkable as ever, he took it in his stride. He hugged me and didn’t say a word. That was all I needed.

I’ve also made a video about hearing voices and you can watch it here

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