Midwinter lost in polar madness

By Virginia Winder

I lost June.
It disappeared inside a gothic dungeon, one with endless dark corridors that echoed, on and on, inside my head.
The outside world disappeared and after a desperate session with a pyschiatrist, I was put on stress leave for two weeks.
But I couldn't stop; there were still stories to finish, deadlines to meet and I was desperate to get everything done; to be reliable so I could finally rest. I was also determined I wouldn't let my mind conquer me.
It didn't work.
One day, after swimming lengths at the aquatic centre, I came home and collapsed, mentally and physically.
That Thursday night a month ago, I called the mental health crisis team and was admitted to hospital with deep depression, plus I was no longer in touch with reality.
I stayed two weeks in Te Puna Waiora, the acute inpatient adult mental health unit at Taranaki Base Hospital. I slept and slept.
Slowly, my cracked mind began to heal.
"Depression is like cancer of the mind," the head psychiatrist said.
But I don't just have the downs. I also have huge highs; times of great euphoria, when I can take on the world and do.
I used to say "yes, I'll do that", "sure thing, I'll join your committee", "yes, I can do that job", "I can do that course". Yes, yes, yes.
Then I would crash and burn. I call it the drop zone.
You see, I have bipolar, a mood disorder that seesaws between manic highs and deep depression.
I was inititally diagnosed in 2006, after my first major mental crash.
But I promptly dismissed it and even convinced a pyschiatrist that I didn't need medication because the first one gave me jaw-clenching spasms. Then I went into complete denial and conveniently forgot the diagnosis.
Through the power of my own mind, I banished it, completely.
I bumbled along through the next few years, flying high and then nosediving. Up down, up down. I felt like I was going crazy - and I was.
In November last year, I was so desperate I asked to be referred back to mental health. The bipolar diagnosis was re-confirmed and I found myself on new medication. Inititally it worked. Then the seesawing of moods began again.
Exercise helped stabilise me. A brisk walk, a slow run, a long bike ride or lengths in the outside pool drenched with sun - these all lifted my spirits or burnt up the raging energy inside me.
Exercise was my saving grace during this tumultuous time.
Because, despite having a mental illness, I refuse, point blank, to let it stop me living life to the full.
However, it did stop me in June.
In May I became so manic that I didn't have a day off work. I worked for 31 days - at least - without a break.
Not surprisingly, my concentration began to fail and my mind turned into a giant jumble, then bang, I found myself in the gothic castle.
Imagine your mind so far gone that the outside world feels unreal and the "real world" is a dark dungeon, complete with corridors of ancient stone dripping with moisture. Adding to my internal misery, these corridors are a maze - there is no way out.
Looking back, I realise now that I was suffering from psychosis. Yes, I was psychotic. I have had one other episode, back in the 1990s, when I thought the BBC World News was put on just for my benefit and the news readers were talking directly to me, but this was the first time my mind landscape was utterly different from what I could see with my eyes.
It took about a week in hospital before the gothic castle receded totally and I was back in the here and now.
I got angry with everybody and everything, then slowly I calmed down and began to feel level again.
Only then could I start to absorb the literature given to me about bipolar and begin to understand why life has been so difficult for so many years.
And yes, I have finally embraced my diagnosis, because I know if I don't, I can't put tools in place to stay well. Denial is a disaster.
The hospital staff were amazing. The nurses were all caring, and one in particular taught me a simple to way to gauge my mood every day.

Look at a door, now imagine that the bottom is zero and the top is 100. What is your natural mood?
Because I am an outgoing person, naturally vivacious and colourful, my good place is between 60 and 70.
Anything above that and I am getting elevated and heading into the danger zone of mania.
On the down side, the lowest I can safely go is 40. Anything beneath that and I am heading towards depression.
As well as writing about exercise and my goal to complete a half-ironman in January next year (just six months away), I will be passing on tips about leading a balanced life. I won't be dwelling on my illness, but I won't ignore it either. Instead, I aim to be focused on wellness.
The strategies that work for me will, hopefully, resonate with healthy-minded people as much as those of us with a mental illness or experiencing a period of depression. Because I will tell you there is always hope and light to being well. Your depression won't last forever and on the way you will learn a great deal about yourself and come out stronger and wiser.
You can reach out and ask for help. People will listen and care. True friends won't judge you and those who do aren't bad; they just don't understand or are fearful of what they don't know.
It's here that I have to say that I don't feel anger or regret for having bipolar. It simply is.
Strangely, I also see it as a gift; one that allows me to feel life intensely - both the periods of despair and great joy. I could do without psychosis though, and I may never have another episode. But then again, I could.
British actor and writer Stephen Fry, who has bipolar, made a documentary about the illness and asked fellow sufferers if they wished they didn't have manic depression. Only one woman said she didn't want to have it. The rest would never give it up, simply because the elevated periods can be so amazing, the possibilities and ideas so incredible.
These periods can also be terribly destructive, but in today's blog post, I will stay as positive as possible.
I truly believe that although I have this mood disorder, it's not who I am. It's an illness and I am not my illness.
I am me. A mother, a wife, a friend, a citizen passionate about communties, sustainability, the environment, art, music and writing.
While I have my ups and downs, I have continued to work, to write story after story to the best of my ability. To teach, to mentor, to freelance and tackle many, many tasks. That will continue because, thankfully, I am high-functioning and know that even when times get tough, I still manage to produce work.
Also, I do my absolute best to be a good mother and loving wife. It's here that I have to say that having my husband, Warren, as my "safe place" and rock is a great help.
Still, it's bloody tough sometimes, but I refuse, point blank, to ever give up.
Plus I am an athlete in the making.
My journey to Mt Maunganui on 5 January 2012 is still on.
It's likely I might be fast walking the Taranaki Daily News Half Marathon in October, but yes, the Port of Tauranga Half is still a realistic goal, as is the Tinman (Olympic-length triathlon) in December.
Now it's time to get back on track because I've just got to do it!

P.S. Now you all know why Sir John Kirwan is one of my greatest heroes. He's also the inspiration for me "coming out" about having bipolar. Mental illness needs to be demystified and the stigmas have to go.
People needing help with depression can go on to JK's practical, inspiring and useful website, which includes a programme to join for direct daily help.
Other helpful links are:
Aware
Headspace
Mental Health NZ
Balance NZ
Samaritans NZ