My experience with bipolar
I was diagnosed with bipolar in my late teens, in my first year at university. The diagnosis (and not – I hasten to add – the symptoms) have shaped my adult identity and experiences.
People with bipolar experience both episodes of severe depression and episodes of mania – overwhelming joy, excitement or happiness, huge energy, a reduced need for sleep, and reduced inhibitions. The experience of bipolar is uniquely personal. No two people have exactly the same experience.
Bipolar disorder has been associated with genius and with creativity. It is certainly true that several contemporary high achievers and creatives have spoken of their experiences. Throughout history, it is possible to recognise bipolar-type traits in the artistic, political and academic spheres. But what is it actually like?
I was lucky enough to speak to a range of people with bipolar to demonstrate the range of experiences out there and some of the things that help.
What impact has bipolar had on your life?
For me, this is important because my experience is very unusual. I took antidepressants in my last year of school, which, when I arrived at University and took the control of living away from home, helped to induce hypomania.
I was already aware of my mood swings and studying biomedical sciences. I went to the doctor and said I thought I had bipolar, and he agreed. I met a superb psychiatrist via student health. There were a few unusual people in my extended Irish family, and at least two with probable bipolar a working diagnosis was quick.
Mood swings coloured my school and university experiences. I cycled rapidly between deep depression and hypomania. I ate too much and drank too much, partly because of the medication and partly because of anxiety, and became very obese.
I had some embarrassing moments of drunkenness, self-harm, obnoxiousness, and accrued debt. By the time I felt properly back on an even keel seven years later, I had accrued nearly £50,000 of unsecured debt, which had taken a decade to pay back.
I don’t have a house or a postgraduate degree, which I’d have liked and which would help now. But. I had my life.
Thanks to online peer support, and carefully nurtured insight, I avoided the hospital. And because I found a sense of purpose through volunteering.
My parents were unquestioningly supportive financially, emotionally and practically. They resolved to push me through my degree at whatever cost. I am lucky they were able to.
I got involved in the student union movement and student mental health campaigning, which led me to my career. Bipolar shaped me. But never broke me.
Nowadays, all I have left is a ghost of an identity formed from a diagnosis. Sometimes my self-stigma or real stigma inhibits my career. Sometimes casual disclosure leads to awkwardness. But. I am recovered.
I’m constantly probing for where recovery ends and post-mental illness starts. I am so aware of how a-typically bipolar I am and how lucky that makes me. Every time my heart swells with empathy for a fellow traveller in trouble or dead too young, I thank my stars. And commit to continuing the work I do. Other people I spoke to had a range of views.