Speaking my mind
More than a million people live with bipolar disorder in the UK. And yet, it receives precious little airtime. Here, one woman shares her experience of living with the mental health condition – and why she wants to change the conversation
At the time, it seemed completely rational. I’d visited Angel Tube station that morning (its name was a sign from God, obviously), and proposed to a stranger in Costa Coffee, saving his number as ‘love of my life’ in my phone. So when I found myself at Stansted Airport’s baggage drop, that, too, felt logical. As I jumped, my left arm hit the fire alarm; sirens wailed, security descended and I was jolted out of my mania to realise I had no idea where I was.
I can laugh about it now. But at the time, aged 22, I’d never been more afraid. Shortly after, I was sectioned and placed in hospital under the Mental Health Act. For a month, I didn’t recognise my own parents; I can’t remember the first six weeks at all. I do know that I thought I was Susan Boyle for a bit. I also thought I could speak Arabic.
It was there I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder – a condition that leaves you with a greater mood range than most. On a scale of one to 10, the average person’s mood will vary between a four and a six. People prone to depression might go down to a three. But someone with bipolar disorder can go from zero to 10, switching between those moods rapidly. If I’m triggered by something, I can drop down to a suicidal, delusional mindset very quickly. I can only describe it as being like a panic attack; it makes no sense and comes on suddenly.
I have type 1 bipolar disorder, which means I’m prone to periods of hypomania (from what I understand, type 2 refers to those who are prone to depressive episodes). I’ll often experience feelings of hypomania for up to five hours at a time. This is different from psychosis or mania, the kind I was experiencing at Stansted Airport that day and hope never to experience again. You hallucinate with mania and often need to be sectioned. Hypomania, on the other hand, feels like your mind is moving at 100 miles an hour; you don’t have time to stop, think and worry, you’re just so excited with life. It’s like the opposite of anxiety.
When I finally left hospital, three months after my first manic episode, I had to speak to a doctor three times a week. It meant I was chatting to a medical professional more than my own friends; a sense of isolation made worse by the fact that I couldn’t describe what had happened to me. How do you explain what it’s like to be so ill you’re physically restrained in hospital?
For the first few years after my diag
