Testimonial

“The carousel and comedy”

Living with bipolar type ll

I am a Brit with bipolar disorder who lives in Sweden (for reasons you will understand as you read down).  A short while  ago I gave a talk about my illness as part of a new public programme on psychiatric disorder called “Fontanhus” illustrated with aspects of my art, writings and poetry (In Swedish!). It was very well received and I was encouraged to write up my story and show my art to help others, especially parents and carers, get more insights into the chameleon that is bipolar disorder. It was also appreciated by fellow bipolar sufferers who could relate and see that there is hope.  My exhibition – called The heart of the matter  took place at the Community centre in Sundsvall for three weeks.

I'm 41 years old and diagnosed with bipolar 2 and I paint and write and doodle.  I guess the interesting part is how my mood is integral to what I create. If I'm being honest, ideas come and go all day, everyday. No different to anyone else. But I spit out drawings, paintings or writings at different intervals in tune with my mood swings due to my bipolarity. 

I can see a trend that when I'm coming out of a depressed episode I write. Mostly poems that are related to the past and are somewhat melancholic and introspective. When I paint or draw my mood is often elevated and a lot of my ideas and energy source come from this heightened state. There is hope and colour and fun in many of my paintings.  

I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression in my late teens. Had a concoction of different meds and therapists. None of which helped in the slightest.

My mood swings had been with me from my early teenage years which I had masked with booze, the only thing that would make everything go away for a while: it stopped the constant chattering in my head. Everything was quiet. I became a different person, alcohol made me strong, fearless and reckless. My low self esteem and self worth were thrown out the window. I was omnipotent, unstoppable, brave and brash. Then problems started.  I began drinking alone before going out to see my friends. Which in hindsight is a red flag. Then the drinking got out of control:  Fights with police, fights with bouncers, fights with strangers. Piss in the bed. Girls left in tears. Memories gone missing. Money blown on drugs and champagne. Wallets lost. Phones destroyed. Cars crashed. Brain cells burnt. 

The amicable, gentle Johnny became a monster and the guilt and shame were horrible.  Still I finished school with 3 A levels and got to university. Looking back I believe the structure of school helped keep me focused and engaged when everything else was spinning. 

After school I made a living out of failing impressively. Birmingham University, Bath Art School, courses, jobs all lost. One after the other. No consequence, thoughts or understanding. Just drinking away the little money I made. Riding the wave to nowhere.  

I had no idea who I was or what I was doing. I managed to keep active though and have always participated in team sports which I believe help tire me out both physically and mentally. Unfortunately there is also a drinking culture that accompanies and accommodates excess, something I was always open to and eager to fulfil.  

I hated myself deep down and didn't understand why. I felt so different to everyone else, damaged. I was paranoid and suspicious of everyone and myself. Had severe mood swings and could explode, then disappear for a week. I excluded myself from life more and more. Found some peace in the quiet of my bed and sleep. I couldn't hurt myself or anyone else there. I tried stopping drinking on many occasions but couldn't be around people or my friends without it. So I became a recluse, until I couldn't bear it anymore and hit the streets again, with an even bigger thirst to quench. 

After my second conviction for drunk driving together with others for resisting arrest, drunk and disorderly and assault I was looking at a jail term.  In court I was saved by the book I had taken with me. It was Graham Greene's “Power and the glory”. My lawyer held it up and used it as my defence. “This is an educated young man who has lost his way.”  The judge looked hard at me and lowered her glasses then took a deep breath “ You'll get one last chance.” She said, staring into my soul. 

I decided that I only had one option left and that was to get out. Disappear. Get out of this cycle and find myself, or die trying.  First Spain. Where I ended up in jail once again. Then Central America where I was dry and managed to stay out of jail at least. But my paranoia and mood swings were getting worse and worse. Without the booze I had no respite. Always in my head. Always spinning. 

I made it to Australia eventually where I saw a psychiatrist and he diagnosed bipolar for the first time and recommended lithium. Problem was I was drifting with no definite place to stay or get the blood tests needed for lithium treatment.  So I travelled on around Australia. More arrests. More lost jobs. Hustling to make ends meet. More disasters. Then a pregnancy with a girl from Sweden. She decided to keep the baby and headed home, I became very stressed and my dad came to pick up the pieces and get me home intact.  After a long deliberation I decided that I had nothing to lose, so why not give it a crack and try being a dad – I moved to Sweden.

The last 17 years since my son Sigge was born has been much the same as the previous 17. But with more responsibility which has helped but also provided definitive evidence of my disorder. I have also added a beautiful baby girl Velvet, who is now 14.   Being a father has been my saving grace. I have become more in tune with my moods and how they affect the people closest to me. 

I counted the list of different jobs I've had. The list was over thirty long and that is thirty different arenas (types) of work not thirty different jobs. I have truly been fearless in the face of uncertainty and change. I've dared, taken the chances, climbed the mountains and fallen once or twice. But I'm still here and still learning. 

I stopped drinking at 35 after an evening with friends escalating into a drunken fight that was only terminated by the police and ambulances that my son was forced to call.  I realised my drinking was damaging my two kids. It was also hiding me from the truth of being bipolar.  I had to stop so I did. 

Looking back is easier when you are sober. I can now see I've had an identity crisis from an early age.  I have always felt like a mixture of two different people. Two poles. Two personalities one flamboyant and fearless the other withdrawn and insular. Without alcohol it has become more apparent. I have attended AA, church, meditation, yoga, KBT, MI, psychotherapy and many other therapy forms during the past years. None of which have been able to change the way I feel. 

Here in Sweden I saw a psychiatrist again because of my low mood and explosive temper. The verdict came out bipolar type 2 again.  What clinched the diagnosis was all the things I have done when hypomanic. 

Here's a list of some examples of the out of character things I have done when hypomanic. No alcohol or drugs needed, just a pure wired brain. 

• Acts of Altruism: Gave my house away worth millions of Swedish Kr. 

  
  

• Acts of rage: Nearly physically attacked my neighbour. Stopped the car to attack the one behind me. I've been told my eyes go black and all reason disappears. 

  
  

• Acts of Love: Felt that I could see Love in everything/everyone. Felt a higher connection to the world, spiritually. 

  
  

• Spending sprees: Bought a welding machine on a whim, whilst living in an apartment. Spent 10000 kr on clothes one night. Bought a car worth 250,000 kr without discussing it with my partner. 

  
  

• Sexual satisfaction: Infidelity all my life in every relationship. Illegal sex. pornography addiction. 

  
  

• Risk taking: Heightened self confidence and bravado, fearlessness in everyday situations. “Fuck it, fuck them!” attitude. 

  
  

• Unrealistic beliefs: Believing I could do anything I wanted. I could play football for England and should contact the manager. Believed I could move to California, meet Cameron Diaz and marry her. 

  
  

• Suicidal thoughts: Often become more aggressive and realistic in this state. Stabbing myself in the heart. Jumping off a bridge. Jumping in front of a train and hanging myself being the most poignant final acts. 

Since then I have taken my medicine (lamotrigine for mood stability and sertraline for anxiety) regimentally and seen a much more stable version of myself evolve. The aggression and irritability have disappeared, replaced with buzzing ideas and projects. But a lack of sleep in the hypomanic states still causes unexpected and out of character episodes.  The downs are still there as well but I've mastered shutting off and crawling into bed for 24-48 hours and sweating it out instead of it being drawn out and taking weeks. 

Insomnia and stress are the two biggest interferences in my mood, but knowing that I have become better at managing them. My highs and lows have shrunken now I have more of a cyclothymic range, faster switches  but less extreme. I also find myself in more mixed states where I experience both hypomanic and depressed episodes simultaneously. I am both down, exhausted and upbeat yet irritable and short tempered at the same time. 

I believe the biggest positive of having this illness is the courage it gives you in the face of adversity. The rough with the smooth. One step forward two backwards. Roundabouts. Carousels. But a life of diversity and colour. Not just black and white but the whole spectrum. I may be lots of things but I have never been called boring, uninteresting or dull, no grey matter here. 

I have begun painting again after a 20 year hiatus. It gives me a great outlet for all my ideas and sleepless nights when I can't turn my brain off. I write short stories and poems when I'm coming out of a low period. They seem to give my mood a meaning and sooth me in some way. I guess this is my own form of therapy. 

Here is a poem I wrote about being bipolar

Bipolar 

It's sad 

I guess 

But is it true 

Or is it just a way of thinking

Or lack of 

Trampolining 

Treading 

Tramping 

Toiling 

I'm a little bit me 

And a little bit 

Someone else 

It's hard to take 

Hard to understand 

Which is which 

Who am I 

Who I am 

I think a lot 

And guess the rest 

I hurt a lot 

And cry on the odd 

Occasion 

But mostly hate and spit 

And dream of fights to the 

Death 

I dream of grandiose 

Beautiful 

Artistic 

Poetic farewells 

But it hasn't come to 

That 

Yet 

Sometimes everything seems 

Fine 

Sometimes Good 

Sometimes Great

But it never lasts 

It's no different for anyone else 

Is it?

Who knows how you 

Feel or what goes on 

In there 

Who knows 

Your guess is as 

Good as 

Mine 

I listen and learn from 

Bukowski and Hemmingway 

And Watts 

And come to my own definitions 

Own conclusions so

I try to build my own 

Identity from words and letters 

And looks 

And memories 

It's not working the way I would have 

Liked 

Bye bye 

Playboy

bye polar