I’m Writing A Book!

Yep, the secret is out! I’ve been offered a publishing contract with Jessica Kingsley Publishers to write a book about bipolar disorder.

The book is going to be a practical guide to bipolar disorder. I’ll offer tips and advice on how to navigate daily life and how to manage symptoms. All of this will be alongside my own experiences of living with the condition!

Now I need to just write the bloody thing! You can send me coffee to fuel me whilst I’m busy working on the manuscript over Xmas and into 2020!

And it all started here, on this blog. I’m truly grateful for each and every one of you that takes the time to read my posts. I’ve thought about giving up writing about mental health, and bipolar in particular numerous times, but the support I have online is incredible and has kept me going, so thank you!

It’s made me reflective and as we head into a new decade, I couldn’t think of a better end to this one. In 2010 I was a mess. I was constantly manic or depressed, there was never any respite from the chaos in my mind. It left me exhausted and physically ill. In mid 2012 I had a breakdown and came close to losing everything. I lost my job, and somehow my partner Jimi stuck with me, supported and cared for me, even though I was terrified he would leave.

Then I was diagnosed with bipolar type 1, but believe me, that wasn’t the end of what became the most gruelling, challenging decade. I was out of work for years, and I had to redefine who I was as a person. My career had been my life, it was me. I went on benefits, and was in a constant state of worry over my finances. I had to find a new way of living my life, a healthier way. It took years before I found medication that worked for me. A combination that didn’t have awful side effects.

2019 has been a better year. I took a huge leap and started working as a freelance writer. I write about mental health, and I’m passionate and committed to my job. I’ve finally felt in control of bipolar, rather than it controlling every decision I make. Now, at the end the year, I have a book deal. I’ve come so far and I’m so proud of myself; something I find difficult to do and admit.

The me of 2010 would never have believed what I’m doing now. She was too focused on getting through the next day, the next hour. But I made it through, I fought my way through this decade.

I can’t wait to share the book with you all. For now, I’ll be typing away on the manuscript, but I’ll still be writing here on the blog when I can!

To My Online World, And How You’ve Helped Me Grow

TW: Suicidal ideation

The period between 2003 – 2013 was a whirlwind of changes for me. The catalyst for these changes came from my online world. A place that held me safely in it’s hands. It was a place without judgement and a community full of compassionate individuals. I could feel the warmth and strength of genuine friendship reverberate around me. I felt like I’d finally found my family.

Where did this vulnerability, this raw honesty come from? The internet was full of the outsiders. Individuals trying to find their people.

In real life I was struggling. I felt like an outcast. I was trying to discover who I was and I felt deeply uncomfortable in myself. I’d never found my ‘tribe’ at school, or even when I started University in 2004. I was constantly called ‘weirdo’, ‘freak’, ‘alien’ during my time at school. I thought University would be a positive change, but I was so very wrong. I found myself surrounded by people I had little in common with. It caused me to modify my behaviour; the way I talked, the music I listened to, the shows I watched, so I could fit in. There was an intense, feverish need to belong. I wrongly thought I was the one that needed to change. That my differences were holding me back. I didn’t have anyone in my life urging me to celebrate them.

University life ended abruptly for me. I didn’t know at the time, but I was struggling with bipolar disorder. For the first term I’d been manic, euphoric and full of an insatiable energy. I fitted in with others in my halls of residence because I was the life of the party. By the next term I was in a downward spiral into depression. I realised the friendships I’d made were based on going out to bars and clubs and my unceasing hyperactivity. I had nothing else in common with them. Feeling alone and desperate, I dropped out.

Going to Uni meant owning my first laptop. At home we’d had a family desktop computer. It was so ancient that my teachers would ask why I was writing essays on a typewriter. I’d missed out on msn messenger. Having one computer between six people as a teenager meant battling with my brothers’ to use it. Homework would have to come first and then there was my Dad who was also studying for a degree. My best friend lived five minutes away so if I wanted to chat, I’d just go over to hers. Now she’d left for University and I was back at my family home. My deepest connection to someone outside my immediate family had disappeared. I felt lost without her.

Having my own laptop coincided with me finding my independence. I didn’t discover the online world until I’d dropped out of Uni. I was a huge anime fan and in my search for original Japanese versions I stumbled upon the then humble world of internet forums. These were the days of hours of constant buffering. An online video could take half an hour or more to buffer enough to make it watchable. Infuriating as it was, it meant my attention was drawn to the forums in the sidebar of these sites. I felt awkward introducing myself to strangers on the internet, but I was bored and wanted to waste some time whilst the wheel of death spun round in front of the video. Greetings started pinging back. I felt a rush of excitement that people were acknowledging me.

I started paying more interest in the content. It wasn’t just people discussing anime. They were talking about their lives, their hopes for the future, their worries and doubts. These were people that were showing a genuine interest in me. Collectively, we were lonely. I had always been made fun of for my passions. I listened to under the radar indie, electronica, house, techno and hip hop music. An eclectic mix that people in my real life just didn’t get. Then I was also a nerd who watched Star Trek and read graphic novels and manga. I played video games and was obsessed with Nintendo and the Zelda games. Now I’d found a group of people that had had the same experiences and liked what I liked. A group that were smart, funny and lovable.

Names didn’t matter in the forums. Your age, gender, ethnicity wasn’t important. What was important was creating meaningful connections and supporting each other. If I’d had a bad day, I’d go straight on the forum to vent my frustration. It didn’t feel like I was shouting into the void.

The first people I came out as bisexual to were my online friends. The connections we’d forged meant I was comfortable enough to tell them. It was the most vulnerable I’d ever made myself, but I wasn’t afraid. I was met with a pure acceptance. These were no longer just strangers, no longer just people, but my close friends. Coming out online to this small, tightly bounded group made me feel safe and secure. One person in particular was almost deafening in their support. She called herself Mel9000, and we’d grown close. About a week later she made an unusually tentative message. She’d found the courage to tell us all she was gay.

This brings me back to why we felt we could be so open online. These were people that didn’t feel accepted, because of their lifestyle, because of their idiosyncrasies. The internet opened up the world to us; we could find people that we clicked with instantly. Many of us felt socially isolated in real life. Everyone else seemed to connect and create friendships so seamlessly. I could hide who I was and put on an act to fit in, but many of the people I met online either wouldn’t do this, or had no idea how to. I wouldn’t say I was lucky to be able to put up a facade and make real life friends. In fact, it made me feel more alone and isolated.

My family didn’t understand how I could spend hours alone in my room. When in fact, I was surrounded by friendly, supportive people; my online family. Mel and mines relationship had grown. We were speaking to each other privately away from the forums. We realised we both lived in the UK, living a few hundred miles apart. Excitedly we realised we could meet, out in the real world. We met and started a relationship. It felt we already knew each other, we had overshared so much of ourselves online.

The most valuable gifts the internet gave me were of self belief. That being weird was an asset. I could use it to propel my creativity forward into new and exciting places. That there were people that would accept me out there in the real world, I just had to work harder to find them, and I did.

The internet began to change. The forums I’d grown so attached to started petering out. But then, I hadn’t been paying them as much attention. I also changed. I met my now husband through online dating. He sent me a ‘wink.’ I brazenly sent back an essay about myself, with a touch of oversharing thrown in. It obviously worked and we’ve now been together for coming up to ten years. The forums had shown me that the internet could bring individuals together, that otherwise would never have met. As we got to know each other, we realised we’d been living in the same town, and going to the same gigs. I’d been up at the front dancing away, he’d been standing shyly at the back. It felt so strange to realise someone I had such a powerful connection with had over the years been standing just meters away from me at music festivals and at bars. To be in so close a proximity to someone but never speak, only to meet online and fall in love shows the power of the internet.

After over a decade of struggling to understand my constantly extreme mood swings and bizarre behaviour, I was diagnosed with Bipolar 1 and Psychosis. It whipped up an array of emotions for me; of a deep guttural anger, a sense of purest relief and of almost overwhelming fear. This was in 2012. I doubt without the forums I was so attached to I would have survived to receive a diagnosis. I never felt judged for sharing my feelings.

I’m still deeply connected to my online world and the connections I continue to create. There’s been this refocus in my online life in the past three years, to twitter and the mental health community that resides there. Twitter can be an endlessly supportive place, it’s just the way you use it that’s important. I’ve managed to find yet again a group of people who I can rely on, that I can lean on when life gets tough. People will share the most intimate thoughts about their mental health which takes serious guts. Most of the time we’re met with love and support, but every now again a troll finds it’s way through. This for me is the major difference in how the internet used to be. It has harsher edges now and it’s easier to find yourself getting cut. It feels more open and although I embrace the fact that more and more people have access to the internet, it can easily lead to confrontation.

I look at it this way; it’s an opportunity to educate and inform someone who has lived life from an entirely different perspective. Whether they are willing to learn and grow from my experiences that I share online, is entirely up to them. I believe by utilising this perspective the internet could become a better place to be in. We need to relearn that we can’t change people. We certainly can’t force that change by shouting and screaming our opinions at one another. We can use the passion for connection and understanding from that more innocent time on the internet. We are capable of putting our thoughts forward with both passion and kindness. There is growth for more genuine acts of listening and accepting difference. In the mental health community on twitter is where I’m seeing a burgeoning sense of togetherness. I feel like part of a group of like minded people again.

I felt pretty lost after my diagnosis. In fact, I became suicidal. I remember I had been sitting at the table crying for what seemed like hours. The thoughts circling my mind were becoming too painful. With conviction, I walked to the kitchen and opened the drawer where my pill boxes were laid out. Collecting them up I spread the medication over the table. I grabbed a bottle of whiskey and began drinking from it, grimacing as I did so. The tears continued unabated and between sips I cried hysterically whilst staring at the tiny pills.

I was inconsolable. I felt there was no hope for me, that I had to keep fighting when I had no fight left. I was crying so much I could hardly breathe through my sobs. I felt devoid of life. It felt like I was in a haze between life and death, of wanting to die and making it a reality. It didn’t feel like my mind was connected to my body any longer. The world around me felt ethereal, and I in a trance. A trance that could only be broken by ending my life. I wasn’t alone for the rest of the day, with my boyfriend coming home early from work to look after me. I don’t remember much else from that day. The hours morphed into a muddied state of tears and an inescapable dread. The only escape I could find was going to bed, and as I lay there I wondered if dying was like falling asleep, and how I wished that it could be this easy; that I didn’t have to ever wake up from this sleep.

I would never have written this, or admitted it, if it hadn’t been for the support I now have from the community on twitter. It’s different to the support I had on the forums back in the noughties, but it isn’t inferior. The way I spoke about my mental illness back then was full of oversharing, but often with a pinch of sarcasm and self deprecation. I hadn’t grown to accept what I was going through and how much of an impact it was having on my daily life.

As a writer I self promote; as a freelancer its essential. I’m older now and the way I use the internet has evolved as I’ve matured. I have more of a foothold, a stronger online presence. I’m fiercely open, loud and proud about my experiences of mental illness and being bisexual. There’s no more anonymity from me. I’ve found that’s a positive step. The forums I found such a connection with may have disappeared, but they gave me the confidence to stand up for the vulnerable, embrace the weird and fight against discrimination. I truly believe these online communities forged the way towards creating a generation more open to difference than ever before.

Why I Decided To Go Freelance

I wake up to my alarm ringing and the cat sitting on my head. I look across and my husband is still blissfully asleep. It’s six o’clock. It’s freezing. It’s dark, and I have to be at work in an hour. It takes me twenty minutes to walk, or I can take the rammed packed bus that stops at every single stop along the way. Either way, I have to be out the house in under forty minutes. That’s the problem. Trying to do anything that early in the morning is like wading through treacle and time has this way of feeling like it’s on fast forward. You might have realised that I am most definitely not a morning person. I never have been. Getting up this early in the morning does not agree with me. It’s too early for me to eat. If I have anything before 10 I’ll feel nauseous, and I might even throw it back up. It’s like my body’s way of shouting at me “What are you doing being up this early?! Go back to bed!” So no breakfast. I won’t get back from my shift until mid afternoon and won’t get a lunch break.

I’ve been toying with the idea of going freelance for the past year. I’ve been slowly building my writing portfolio over the last three years and recently it’s escalated. I’m getting actual paid work. It’s work I enjoy and I’m proud of. The problem has been juggling my writing with my part time job. For a while it worked quite well, but I found myself at work wishing the time away. It might be because I had a deadline looming, or I had some great ideas I needed to pitch, or I needed to update my blog with a new post. I’ve also started a podcast this year and honestly I haven’t had enough time in my schedule to record regular episodes. On top of that I was looking after my niece once a week. I had all these ideas and not enough time to implement them.

You’re probably thinking; but you only work part time, how can it be so difficult to find time to write? I find it difficult to go from serving coffee and chatting to customers for six hours, to then sitting down and concentrating. I find it hard to focus when I’m switching gears so suddenly. I also have to be mindful of how much pressure I put on myself. Stress and tiredness are the number one triggers for me for a manic episode.

The one thing that scares me about going freelance is money, or the lack of it. I’m not a materialistic person – one of my favourite dresses is nine years old, so it doesn’t bother me if I can’t buy new things. If I can pay the bills and my husband and I can still go out and see friends and have date nights, I’ll be happy. Where I’ve been working for the past year and a half I’ve been on minimum wage. I’ll miss that steady income but it’s not like I’m going from some high earning job to unpredictability. Plus, my job was shift based, and I was on a zero hour contract. That meant I never had a guarantee of regular work anyway. I’m used to living in uncertainty.

Then there’s the big one. The one predominant, constant issue in my life; my mental health. Could I manage making my own routine and sticking to it? Could I deal with the stress of working for myself and managing my time? I’ve been mostly stable for the past year, besides a few wobbles here and there. One of which resulted in my psychiatrist not taking seriously my suicidal thoughts. I felt there wouldn’t be a better time than now to take the plunge. I’m aware that such a big change in my life and routine could be a trigger for an episode of mania or depression. I’m going to look out for the warning signs and make sure I’m taking care of myself.

I’m excited about this new challenge. I know it won’t be easy, but writing, especially about mental health has become such an important part of my life. I’m passionate about it and I’m going to try and make it work.

Mind Media Awards 2018 – Shortlisted, ME?!

Last night I was checking my emails and a message popped up. It said ‘Mind Media Award Shortlist’ I was fully expecting a resounding,

“Thank you, but unfortunately..” response, which is pretty much the story of my life.

Then I clicked in and it said,

“Congratulations!”

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I screamed out loud. Jumped up and down in the middle of the lounge. Then I sat down and read the rest of the email.

“What the actual fuck!” That was all I could think. I could feel myself shaking. I could feel the tears coming, and I didn’t fight them.

I’ve felt like a failure for so long. I dropped out of Uni. I stormed out of college. I left a fantastic job that I adored and was genuinely good at. I reached my 30th birthday feeling utterly directionless. All because of my mental health issues. I’ve doubted myself countless times.

Now though having a mental illness and writing about it candidly and honestly has positively impacted my life. Knowing my words have been recognised and most importantly have reached and helped people has made me feel so proud. The proudest I’ve ever felt in my life.

Here’s a mega thank you to everyone who reads and follows this blog, I genuinely appreciate you all. Your likes and comments have inspired me to keep writing, when I doubted my blog was worth it.

So many with mental health issues can relate to feeling worthless, a failure. Always keep going, you never know what’s around the corner x

Writing Is My Therapy

Writing has always been an important part of my life. I remember filling notebook after notebook with reams of ideas and stories as a kid. Writing was my escape. As I got older I continued to write and it became a release from the depression that had suddenly manifested into my life. I even decided to go to University to study creative writing.

As an adult, I’ve had many struggles with mental illness. The symptoms of bipolar ran my life and my attempts to control the highs and lows were in vain.

I began to write, but this time, it began as a journal. I’d never kept a diary before. I just started to write, and soon everything was laid out. How much I’d been struggling, how guilty, helpless and ashamed I felt. It helped me immensely. I felt a release to see all these thoughts that I’d bottled up committed to paper.

Writing became my own private therapy.

I’ve had therapy, CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) a couple of times. The first time round it really helped. I went to the sessions to help me deal with panic attacks. I learnt some important techniques and a new way of thinking about the experience. I use them to help me deal with nighttime panic attacks . The panic attacks subsided afterwards, and now I very rarely have one, maybe only once a year.

My second experience of CBT was not so positive. It wasn’t long after I’d been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I was offered group therapy and wanting to know more about the condition, and share experiences with others, I said yes. The course didn’t help. It was basic, and didn’t teach me anything new about the condition. There was never any time to share our experiences. I still felt alone.

I continued to write, but now I wanted to share what I’d written. I started a blog, this blog. Although now I don’t always write about my personal experiences, writing still helps me.

It gives me focus and a sense of purpose when I’m depressed. It helps me to stay calm and concentrate when I’m manic. It drowns out the voices and helps me process the experience when I’m psychotic.

I’m not in therapy at moment. A lack of therapeutic styles on offer from the NHS means I’d have to seek private therapy. I can’t afford to do that, so my option is talking therapies; that didn’t go well last time

So for now writing will have to be my therapy. I’m sort of ok with that. I’m annoyed that I can’t access actual therapy, but at least I’ve found something in my life that helps me.

My Hearing Voices Journal

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Last week I had an episode of psychosis, where I suffered from auditory hallucinations, or hearing sounds and voices. To help me through it, I journalled the experience in a notebook. Some parts are written during the episode, and some are written directly afterwards. It helped me make sense of what I was hearing and to ground me in reality and to help me deal with the shock when it had stopped.

“I think I’ve found the worst combination ever of physical and mental illness. Migraine, room spinning and doubting my sanity as I hear voices whilst sat in bed. I’m feeling very vulnerable and scared. I’ve felt physically ill all day today. We went out for a meal with friends but had to cut it short because I thought I was going to pass out or fall over from being so dizzy. This week has been an emotional rollercoaster with my moods all over the place. I’ve been ecstatically happy and hyperactive, busy working away on new projects. In a startling contrast I’ve felt hopeless, useless and deeply lost.

Now I’m home, and sat in bed. The noises have started. I can hear creaking. It sounds like it’s coming from the bed, but I’m not moving. It won’t stop. I’ve turned on my laptop and found the easiest, light hearted programme I can find, Friends. It reminds me of my childhood, before the voices started. I remember when it was first aired on a Friday night and I was allowed to stay up and watch it. If I can focus on this maybe the voices will leave me alone.

It isn’t working. Now the creaking has turned into banging on the bedroom window. The banging is urgent, fast and incredibly loud as if a fist is pounding on the window. The blinds are closed and I’m paranoid now that the banging is real and someone is playing a joke on me. Should I get up and check? I really should. I’ve been to open the blinds and there was nothing there. It’s windy outside, and all I could see were the bushes and trees swaying. The unpredictable and forcible wind today is mirroring my state of mind. The banging is making me really uncomfortable. I’ll turn the volume up on the laptop to try and drown out the noise. It’s not working, Fuck. What is my mind trying to tell me? How can I rationalise this or tell it to stop?

It’s suddenly stopped, thank fuck for that. I can breathe again. The cat has leapt up on the bed and has curled up next to me. It’s like she knows something is wrong. Stroking her and listening to her gentle purr is calming me down. I’ve just realised it’s getting dark outside and I’m sitting in the bedroom with no lights on. But I don’t want to get up because right now sitting here I’m not hearing anything scary or confusing. I don’t want to jinx it.

Now it’s dark and I’m still sitting in the bedroom, still too afraid to get up and turn the lights on. I can hear footsteps coming into the room, it must be my husband. I hear the bed creak as he sits down on it next to me. He says to me “Do you want any carrots? I think we need some more carrots for next week.” I’m confused. Why is he talking about carrots? I respond, “Yeah ok, I’ll put carrots on the shopping list next week.” I hear him get up and walk out the room. I’m not sure if that conversation was real. It was weird and random and now I feel really muddled and confused. I’ve turned the light on now so I could write this down.

Oh yay, hear comes the shouting. I close my eyes and try and focus my mind. All I can hear is “Fuck! Fuck!” “Get the fuck out!” Can’t take this anymore. I’m getting up. I realise I’m trembling and I feel as if I’ve been shaken roughly by someone much stronger than me. I sit down next to my husband on the sofa. I ask him, “Did you come in the bedroom earlier?” He replies “No, I’ve been in here the whole time, why?” I can’t be bothered to explain what’s been happening. I’m still feeling overwhelmed by voices. I’m asking him about his game. He’s playing Elite. I love how passionate he is about this game and the idea of space travel. I make myself listen to him intently, and the shouting starts to fade.

The problem with hearing voices is the paranoia afterwards. Is that banging from outside or in my head? Is that whispering in the background of the tv show I’m watching or in my mind? Unknown noises set my teeth on edge. I’m jumpy, full of panic with the fear it will start again.

At least I’m talking about it.”

Breaking the Silence

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Too many people with mental illness are silent. Silent with friends and family, Silent at work. Silent from their doctors, silent with themselves. Breaking that silence can feel like the hardest thing in the world.

We worry about what others will think of us, and that they will judge us. Maybe they’ll think we’re attention seeking, exaggerating, or crazy. What if they recoil from us or decide they can’t deal with it. We worry breaking the silence will make work life difficult, or even cost us our job. Maybe our doctor won’t believe us, or won’t have any answers. We worry that being truly honest with ourselves will mean we will have to face the reality of our illness. All of this circles our minds and paralyses us from taking action to help ourselves and to reach out for help and support.

It all comes down to stigma and discrimination. It is such a huge issue for people with mental illness. We fear the repercussions of breaking our silence. If we start talking and sharing collectively, we can hold each other up and give ourselves the confidence to use our voices.

When you do break the silence it can be freeing and empowering. To finally share your story with someone, even if it’s just one person, can come as a huge relief. Sharing your struggles lifts a weight off your shoulders and has a positive affect that staying silent will never do. I do this here on this blog, and share my experiences of bipolar, psychosis and bulimia. I first started journalling my experiences in 2012, but only shared with family and friends. Last February, I made the decision to go further and set up this blog and to be more active about it on social media. Now I feel supported by a larger community, of people I have never even met. I have received messages from across the world of support, and others asking for advice.

In most situations, people are generally supportive. However, this isn’t always the case and we have to be prepared for this. It can be deeply hurtful when someone doesn’t understand, or refuses to make an effort to. If we feel capable, the best thing we can do is try and inform and educate. Stigma often comes from ignorance or a lack of information. We need to make sure we provide people with the right information so that they can make informed opinions. This can be from sharing your story, or from highlighting resources from charities such as MIND and Time To Change

Not everyone with mental illness feels capable of being open. We share our stories to varying degrees, and even if we tell only the one person closest to us, that we can confide in, that’s ok. We don’t all need to put ourselves ‘out there.’ We’re all different, despite our shared illnesses. Breaking the silence means talking as much or as little as you want to. It isn’t a competition and no-one should feel pressured to tell everyone they meet about their illness. Do what you can, and you’ll find it makes a difference to not only your life, but to the people you care about.

Time to Change Story Camp 2017

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Filled with excitement and trepidation on Friday morning I woke early – about two hours earlier than I needed to, ready for Time for Changes’ Story Camp. Fighting off the nerves I made all the important decisions; are those glittery shoes too much? Did I really need to coordinate my stationery with my bag and phone? How the hell was I going to navigate London with my complete lack of directional sense? I made it out the house and found my way to the venue only managing to lose my way twice, a massive achievement!

So what is Story Camp?

Story camp is a day dedicated to all things mental health, and how to get your story out there. Whether it’s through blogging, vlogging, illustration, (even crafts), or becoming a media volunteer. Although I’m already writing here on this blog, I’m still relatively new to the idea of sharing my story and getting my voice heard. I wanted to broaden my knowledge and learn from others and this seemed like the ideal opportunity. Time to Change set up the day and work tirelessly to reduce mental health stigma in the UK. Their focus is on the general public, and providing them with real life stories, awareness days, (such as Time for Talk Day) and educational tools to combat harmful and sensationalist ideas surrounding mental illnesses.

The Day

One of the most inspiring aspects of the day was that three of the speakers had attended Story Camp just a year before. They had taken the experience and ran with it – using their passion and creativity to spread awareness across the country and on a number of media platforms. The first speaker of the day was Shea whose motivational words and assured yet warming presence set up the day perfectly. Shea spoke about storytelling and its power and how telling our stories helps to humanise mental health.

Next up was Jodie, who led us through blogging and social media. Although I realised I was already doing many of the things she mentioned, it gave me the belief that I was on the right track and that I could make a few tweaks here and there. It felt important to know this and that I should have some self belief! I came away from this segment with a ton of new blog ideas that I can share with you all in the upcoming months.

Then Andrea spoke passionately about vlogging. This is something I’ve begun but rejected earlier this year. It felt too daunting and emotionally draining a task. After hearing Andrea speak however, and the important message that it doesn’t have to be polished and perfect has renewed my interest. Making shorter videos that are more focused should help them feel less tiring to make.

The final speaker of the day was Lucy who, like the others, spoke so inspiringly. Her segment was about the media and how to work with and share your story with them. This is definitely something that sounds scary but could be ever so rewarding. I had a upsetting experience working with BBC three last year. I was unhappy with the final edit, but it was put on the website without any of the participants having a say beforehand. What I hadn’t realised until story camp was that Time to Change can support you if you are contacted by the media to share your mental health story. It’s given the confidence to know they’ve got my back if I ever have the opportunity to participate in something again.

My own mental health

Although I do struggle with Bipolar disorder and sharing my story does dredge up painful emotions and experiences, I feel it is vital to educate others and provide a voice for those that aren’t able to. I do have periods of stability and even during depressive or manic episodes I can still write. When depression strikes I’m not constantly in a state of numbness or deep emotional pain, and have good days. Sometimes I can even feel positive!

The mental health community

It was wonderful to meet people at story camp and everyone sat and chatted immediately because we all had a common interest; helping others and reducing the stigma of mental illness. I truly feel there is a community online that suffer with mental health problems that support one another. Just as importantly we want to create change in our society and I believe we can. I’m excited and full of motivation to continue my journey with you all, and to really make an impact surrounding mental health.

Maddening Creativity

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When I’m in a manic state, creativity becomes my everything. I have this incredible surge of confidence and self belief that comes from nowhere. I truly believe I can do anything. I have always been creative. I started playing the drums when I was eight, I studied art up to A level and I continue to draw, sketch and sculpt. I almost studied sculpture at University, but decided instead on creative writing. I am always writing, whether it’s non-fiction or fiction, or here on my blog. As anyone does, I have times when I’m motivated and focused, or I’ll be inspired by something. The difference with mania is the creativity is astoundingly concentrated. My whole life will be consumed with the need to create. I’ll forget to eat or sleep, the house will become grimy and messy. I won’t shower because that takes too much time. So I sit in my trash ridden house with grimy hair feverishly writing or painting away. I’ll put off paying bills and running important errands because creating will be all that matters.

My mind at these times is sodden with creative ideas. I can’t ignore it and it turns into a flood of activity; from researching, buying resources and creating. It’s like I’m possessed, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Except, I don’t want it to stop. I long for these moments, whether they last for a week or a month, when I can find inspiration from anywhere. I can pluck new ideas out of thin air. It is an enticing state, and one I miss when it has dissipated. I can be up and wide awake at three in the morning still sketching or writing. I show everyone what I’ve been working on, with a pride that verges on narcissism. I feel I have to do something with my work so I start a business, start writing a book, or both.

The only problem; it doesn’t last. Sooner than I’d hope, I crash and depression becomes my everything. In my mind I am useless and can’t believe how deluded I have been. I’ve told so many people about my projects and plans, but all I feel know is incredibly embarrassed. I have begun a novel and scrapped it in a moment of self doubt. Created intricate wire sculptures and torn them apart in anger and frustration. Blogged almost everyday, and then found myself unable to write a single word for months.

I don’t know what to do with all of this. This creativity is one side of many manic symptoms. Too many of them are unpleasant, self destructive and harmful. Unfortunately they co-exist, I can’t have the inspiration and confidence without the anger, over spending, delusional thinking and risk taking behaviour. I once thought I was a racing driver and crashed my car. Another time whilst driving I closed my eyes and let go of the wheel. I’ve believed I couldn’t be hurt and walked into traffic and put my hands under boiling water. On all occasions I could have easily have died or been critically injured. That is the other side of mania. It isn’t glamorous and definitely shouldn’t be romanticised. Despite these negatives, I still find myself longing for those flashes of imaginativeness and inventiveness. So I accept it, and wait with both dread and eagerness for the next time.

Novel Update: 1

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It’s been nearly two weeks now since I started work on my novel. I have been persistent and strict with myself, writing each day. Some days it might only be a couple of hundred words, but it is still progress. The word count is currently standing at 15,000. I’m trying not to get hung up on this, preferring to concentrate on the flow rather than length. Before beginning in earnest, I had an entire notebook filled with ideas for chapters and whole chunks of prose and dialogue scrawled on the pages. I have been trawling through these notes, deciding what works and what doesn’t.

Much of what I have written is deeply personal. There are situations I have described that none of my family or friends know about. I’m concerned of what they will think of me after reading these chapters. However, I made a promise to myself to be as honest as I possibly could about my experiences, and the impact Bipolar has had on my life.

I’ve been open about it with friends and family, with offers to read my work through and critique when it’s finished. I’m not sure how I feel about the people close to me critiquing my work. I would prefer a completely honest assessment of what I have written, not a watered down version of the truth.

There are many questions and doubts circling my mind as I write:

Is this engaging enough?

Will anyone actually want to read this?

Has everyone been lying to me and I can’t actually write?

I’m trying my hardest to silence the negative voices. I have a reputation for self sabotage and I’m determined to keep going and pursue my goal.

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