beeing bipolar

I have struggled with my mental wellbeing, since I transitioned from Primary to High School in 1990. I was basically a tiny fish in a giant pond. Flapping, flailing and feeling like I was drowning most of the time. I had friends, some great ones at that, but I was naïve, pretty shy and very uncool. A band geek (some might say). What I possessed in sense of humour, I lacked in knowledge: of high school protocol, slang word meanings and most definitely in "How to attract the opposite sex!" Throw raging hormones into the mix and I was a walking disaster of endless emotional meltdowns.

Bullied for years, by a number of nobody’s, both in and out of school; my self-esteem and any shred of confidence I held, evaporated. I was lost. I was low. I felt worthless. Invisible. I self harmed (my feet, so no-one could see the scars). The only person I confided in, was my diary. Somehow, I clawed my way through to college, with pretty decent grades. And I guess, with sheer grit & determination. Here, I studied English, Psychology & Geography. Then went on to University to fulfil my lifelong ambition of becoming a teacher.

At the University of Warwick in 1997, I discovered, that most people just accept you the way you are. You’re free to just "Bee You". Completely enlightening for me really!

Uni days were a whirlwind, of partying, mischief & mayhem. Lectures in Primary Education and English. Clubs & Societies: Almost Teacher's (oh the fancy dress drinking circles!) Lifesaving. Aikido. Pop-Mo (aerobics classes) And a whole lot of cramming in my 4th year to pull off a 2:1 - absolute shocker!

In the summer of 2000, whilst working at a kids camp, I fell in love. Not a drunken "Monday Cheesy Music Night Top Banana Flirty Fling!" Head over heels. This is it! Wholly consumed, by a kindred spirit - kind of love. We partied, we drank, we drove to Cornwall, a lot. We camped, we backpacked - through France. Then Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia. We declared our never ending love & commitment.

In the space of a year, soon after graduation, I abandoned everyone and everything I cared about and moved down south to be with him. After a number of diabolical "We're trying to save up to go backpacking round the world, but are failing miserably, jobs", I took a teaching position in a gorgeous village school, tucked away in deepest West Somerset. After two short, temporary, but glorious terms, with an inspiring head teacher and team, I sadly moved on, to another local school. But alas, a permanent contract.

Here, I quickly became disillusioned, tormented & confused, by the stress of the teaching profession & the rather "Old School", approach of the Senior Leadership Team.. The children I adored. But the paperwork. The targets. The Data. The meetings. The observations. The performance management goals. The let's use four different coloured highlighters, to demonstrate our "Social, Moral, Spiritual & Cultural Curriculum", was not for me. I couldn’t cope. I couldn't organise myself, my thoughts or my classroom. I felt suffocated, stifled, shackled, to the ever demanding National Curriculum & growing expectations of all teachers. I began to drown once again. My paperwork started to slip, along with my goals & targets. I unravelled completely in less than a term.

I stopped eating. I stopped socialising. I stopped confiding. I stopped talking. To family. To friends. I even stopped talking, to my partner, which becomes quite an issue, when you live in the same house. I began worrying. I began crying, every day, on the way to work. I began analysing: my performance, as a teacher, as a team member, as a PSHE subject co-ordinator. I began stressing, about every aspect of what I was asked to do, daily.

Black clouds formed & loomed. Depression and anxiety crept in from the shadows and took hold of my throat. Within a few months, my partner & I split up, it was inevitable really. In response to the break up, I quit my job. I had to. I literally wasn't functioning, on any level, as a competent teacher. I took every penny I had & hit the road once more. This time - solo: Volunteering at the 15 May School for Street Children, in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. Touring Australia, from Sydney across to Perth, on the Indian Pacific Railway. Then back again & up the East Coast to Cairns - taking in Fraser Island & the spectacular Whitsunday Islands. Finally, on to New Zealand, for a spot of "Woofing" (Willing Workers On Organic Farms). Basically working for bed & food, on sheep farms, during lambing season. It was the right thing to do for me. The only thing, to regain any sense of sanity or purpose.

I returned 8 months later, on a Byron Bay phone box call with the promise of a mistake made and a future of endless possibilities together. Turned out I was wrong. He was wrong. We were wrong. He didn’t feel the same anymore, about me anyway. Only four months later we split, again. For good this time... and so did my brain. The lights literally went out. I shut down completely & had a nervous breakdown 8 days into a new teaching job. Depression took hold of my throat once more. I moved home again, aged 25. Alone. Jobless & Desperately poorly.

That was, until the introduction of an antidepressant, almost three months later. Which triggered, an almost instant flip in mood - From total despair, to total euphoria! A full-blown "Manic Episode", lasting weeks. With it, after a few months more, came a diagnosis: “Bipolar Disorder (type 1)”. Bi - meaning two and Polar - describing opposite extremes. Encouraging my thoughts, my mood and my behaviour, to become one, or the other. Happy or Sad. Euphoric or Despairing. High or Low. Manic or Depressed.

Mania tricks you, into believing that you're invincible. Creative. Charming. A great people person, brimming with amazing ideas. Depression, in contrast, tricks you into believing that you're a pretty terrible person: Wife. Daughter. Mother. Friend. Employee. Small tasks like having a shower, changing the bed, doing the laundry, going to the supermarket, thinking what to make for dinner, seem mountainous and near impossible. My thinking, at worst, becomes black, with very few shades of grey.

Periods of wellness are more balanced, there are few intrusive thoughts, brainwaves of creativity & life is in full colour. I go to appointments. I work. I do the school run. I pay bills and take care of the finances. Do household jobs. I celebrate birthdays with friends and family. There are: Date Nights, Film Nights. Girls' Nights. Coffee Dates. Outdoor gatherings. Family Adventures with Glenda the Campervan. Life is good. Turns out though, Bipolar Disorder, is a lifelong label, with no cure….. Ho hum!