I’m aware I have a few new readers and followers, and I thought it might be interesting to tell my story a little. Genuinely I could write a book, but I don’t want to be held responsible for the depression of my audience. My life hasn’t been easy (whose has?) and I have been known to describe it as a catalogue of disasters. If you look back over my earlier posts you will see more about some of those life events that have shaped the person I am today, if one feels so inclined. But I thought a little overview, just to give a taste of my past and current challenges.

I was born early and sick. I was also my parents’ rainbow baby, the one who came after the baby who died. My mother’s grief was in no way addressed, and added to her ongoing mental health issues, so she struggled. My early memories were of her crying, a lot, and sleeping, even more. I also recall her suicidal ideation, slamming out the house with her car keys and a big brown bottle of pills. As I recall, she never actually overdosed, but she would disappear off for a time, usually returning an hour or two later.

These days I would have been diagnosed with school phobia, severe separation anxiety and probably generalised anxiety too. But back in the 70s we had no choice but to just get on with it. My first few weeks at school were characterised by selective mutism. But in time I settled and found my voice.

I was sexually abused at around age 6 and again by a different perpetrator between the ages of 11-14. As a teen I was torn between quiet and shy and wayward. I think ‘troubled’ probably summed it up best. I also experienced my first tastes of bipolar hypomania. Although it was decades later before that diagnosis came.

I was married at 19 to a man who love-bombed me and made me believe I was the apple of his eye. Sadly the feeling of being cherished barely lasted beyond the wedding and by the following day I was being put firmly in my place. The control and the domestic abuse continued throughout our long marriage. I guess I just couldn’t see it for what it was until I was on the other side.

My first depressive breakdown came when I was 22. I spectacularly dropped out of nursing school. Over the next three years I spent nearly six months in psychiatric hospital. Although it was grim, I actually felt safer there than at home or facing the world at large.

I recovered from my depression in my late twenties and was blessed with my gorgeous boy. Still very much a blessing to this day. Things seemed to be going well. But when my son was three I lifted him out of bed one night to change him, and my back went. Over the next seven years I struggled with chronic back pain, nerve pain and weakness in my legs and mobility difficulties that became increasingly worse.

My husband, who had always suffered poor health, died in 2008. Life as I knew it felt like it had ended. My boy battled horrendous grief and anger, entirely directed at me, as I was safe. My in-laws called me a bad parent because of my son’s anger. The way we were treated for our grief responses was shocking. In time they became estranged.

My back pain continued. I was being bullied in my job (a job I never really wanted, but it worked well around school hours). I was eventually signed off on ill health grounds and I had my back fused in 2010. Again after that, I dared to think I could build a positive new life for myself and my son. A fresh start.

I started working in early years childcare. I loved it. I did my NVQ2 then skipped 3 and went straight into a foundation degree. I was so happy. My work and studies fitted around my son. I loved how the academic work challenged me and I excelled, often receiving the highest mark in the group. Things went well and I signed up to do the top up to BA year. Then disaster struck. In 2013 my mum died. I struggled again with depression and suicidality. My son was diagnosed with depression, anxiety and OCD. I gave up my job to look after him full time. I spectacularly dropped out of uni.

I fought to get my son support for his mental health. It was painfully slow. And limited. I tried to get support for my own mental health. It wasn’t forthcoming. I was desperate. My son was too anxious to sleep and too anxious to be apart from me. He would eventually crash out, but I’d struggle to relax and the sleep deprivation was hitting me.

I ended up putting my son into care once his treatment was in place. I can not state how hard a decision that was but I was in no fit state to care for him. I exaggerated how bad things were to the social workers, because honesty was getting me nowhere. I was branded an unfit parent because of those exaggerations, but my boy was safe and cared for.

When I knew the boy was settled in his first foster placement, I stopped trying to hold myself together anymore. I was sectioned by the police for ‘being mentally disordered in a public place’, which in real terms means I was 10 floors up the multi-storey car park with a desire to go over the wall. I had another stay in psych hospital and it was there I noticed my mood was really erratic. Despite generally being depressed, I was often giggly, talkative and up half the night unable to relax.

I struggled with my mentals for some time then. But I finally received my bipolar 2 diagnosis in 2015. It took a while to find the right meds, but I’m pretty well stabilised now. I was also given an EUBPD diagnosis subsequently.

I was severely sexually assaulted by someone I considered a friend in 2016. This sent me spiralling into suicidal ideation and attempts once more. Particularly after the police said they wouldn’t be pressing charges. The ‘friend’ was part of a group support network of six of us. After the assault I was dropped by the group while he got to stay. Just added insult to injury.

My son was able to come home in 2018, which was joyous. Sadly my dad died the following year which broke my heart. In fact it still does. And the treatment I received from my older brother when he found out I was the executor of dad’s will, and that I had no intention of contesting said will so he would get what he wanted, was unimaginable. It was suggested I pushed dad down his steps and caused his death. It was suggested I wasn’t our dad’s child and had I ever had a paternity test done? It was also suggested I was not mentally sound to undertake the job of executing the will (I had to take a mental capacity test because a legal challenge was being threatened). I was abused by telephone and social media messaging platforms. After blocking him across the board he borrowed someone else’s mobile phone to harass me. He was even verbally abusive to me at the funeral.

Even now I just want my dad.

I feel I should probably address the two years I spent with the man named Dave. The endless parading me around swinging clubs, private homes, cars, forests and car parks for men to use me. And the occasional woman. I can’t say I was forced into anything, but he was exceptionally manipulative. He knew I was in love with him and pretty much would have done anything for him. He loved the power and the mind games. Thankfully I had the sense to get out of that when I did.

The only other thing I really want to mention is my weight and eating issues. During the course of bipolar, when I’m very up, I don’t want to stop and eat. When I’m down, I tend to eat more. I’m a classic comfort eater and will on occasions binge. However, if I get to a point of really severe depression, I lose my appetite completely. I have been known in those times to deliberately starve myself and lie to those close to me about what I’ve eaten. I should stress I’ve never been diagnosed with an eating disorder, but I do consider I have ‘eating issues’. I was told to leave a slimming club once by my GP because I was becoming obsessed.

When I was told last October I was pre diabetic I was sent into a tailspin. I can’t say how much discipline it has taken me to lose weight healthily over the last nine months. One of the reasons the journey has been on my socials is because it increases my accountability, both to eat better and also to not overdo things. I’m aiming to make the journey a positive one.

So, right here, right now, life is surprisingly good. I’m getting married at the end of the year to a wonderful man who treats me really well, and as an equal. I have a great ongoing relationship with my son. I have some amazing friends who know exactly when they need to check in with me. I’m losing weight and toning up at a sensible pace that is hopefully sustainable. I’ve reversed pre diabetes (at least for the time being). My mobility is improving for the weight loss. And I’m feeling good about myself.

Please don’t think I’m looking for sympathy. I was inspired by a little meme I saw, that read, “Do you ever just stop and think, wow, I’ve been through a lot of shit?” My response was a resounding ‘yes’ but I’m in a better place currently than I’ve ever been. I’m not angry, not bitter, I’m just getting on with stuff. This strong, beautiful woman can.