Dark To Light And Back Again

My run in with depression started in my teens, I wanted to curl up as small as I could and disappear for some reason the thought of dying never occurred to me. My depression was never talked about never the fact that my stepfather was sexually abusing. I was just considered odd, different.

My knowledge of mental illness was very basic to say the least. In 1990 I was catapulted in a very strange and bizarre world. I had just given birth to my son and suddenly life was different, I became paranoid, my house was being bugged. Music and the television spoke to me, I became very interested in emptying my bins on the kitchen floor and trying to figure out what I could recycle.

I was admitted to the psychiatric hospital firstly voluntarily then sectioned as I decided I wasn’t going to stay. I tried to run away, smashing a round dial to get a key to leg it down the fire escape. I was in my slippers and dressing gown. I didn’t know where I was going, I just had to get away.

They soon caught up with me, kept me under observation, even watching me in the bath. They gave me foul tasting orange liquid, that I refused to take, they asked me to take it for an elderly patient, the only one who had said a kind word to me.

From this first admission my life spiralled out of control I lost my job, my house, my car and my friends, it seemed all I had was my family and manic depression. My life seemed pointless, lurching from one depression to one psychotic episode to the next. Over the last 15 years I have had as many hospital admissions mostly against my will. I didn’t believe I was mentally ill, I didn’t want to be, no way.

In 1997 I was once more hallucinating, I held a vegetable knife in my hand and I looked at my right hand wrist and I could see that it was cut and all the blood. I looked away in horror and then looked back there was nothing there. I knew I had reached the scary depths in my mind and became afraid to be with myself. I telephoned a friend who was a Christian and explained and said I wanted to go to church with her.

I went and found out about Jesus and His love for me. I did not believe it, I was so unworthy, I was a nobody how could He possibly love me.

The love and kindness that the people who went to church cruelly chafed in my mind taunting me, they were just being kind to be polite, they didn’t really like me, or want me to attend. I stopped going, seeking solace in my Bible alone, although after a while even the reading of that was seen purely as a symptom of my illness.

Over the following years my thoughts and beliefs about Jesus became entwined with my mental illness so much so that no-one knew where the crossover was. I believe many doubted if I had any faith or if it was just illness.

To me looking at it all now it was like I would try to make sence of my life and my relationship with God, when mania would rear its head and leave me grasping at thoughts, beliefs and wondering what was real and not.

In 2000 following a six-month detention in a psychiatric ward I came out feeling as if noone on this planet understood me. I had tried to talk to people around me but they also raised questions and I knew they were questioning my mental state.

One day I was sat pondering life, the universe etc. I began writing about my thoughts, feelings and emotions, the words just tumbled up from inside me. I realised very quickly that by giving the pain within me a way to get out on paper somehow made them tangible. Which allowed me to express them without saying over and over to different people. I wrote for about 18 months and then just as abruptly as I had started I stopped.

I have to say here that I had not written any poems since being 13 years old and that was just for English lessons.

My writing had allowed me to connect with myself and I began to feel easier about my past and my diagnosis of mental illness. I began to feel as a person who was ill, not as I once believed I was dominated by mental illness, that was all I was.

I read an article in Pendulum (Manic Depression Fellowship) about a guy who had wrote a book and had set up a publishing company who were publishing books by people with mental health problems. His name was Jason Pegler and the company is Chipmunkapublishing.

I emailed Jason and sent him some of my poems, my friends said I was either brave or stupid, but I believed if it was meant to happen it would.

Jason replied and asked me to send some more. Then to send the lot.

During this time my mood was doing the typical rollercoaster thing, my husband believed we would have to re-mortgage the house to cover costs. This was not the case.

In 2003 I held the first copy of my book. How bizarre was that? I had gone from believing I was a nobody and that my life was over and here I held a book with my picture on the front and full of my words.

I kinda went through a period of disbelief, acknowledging what was occurring but it wasn’t really for me.

A book launch was held in my town and almost 70 people came. How inspiring was that, I was almost off the planet, I was euphoric, all those people came to see and here my poems and me.

My book was in the widow of the library in Rochdale where I live and I asked my friend to write down the names of the other authors, it was mind blowing to discover I was sharing space with Paul McCartney and Catherine Cookson to name but a few.

Without sounding too positive because it isn’t like that I know only last week I was struggling to get out of bed, didn’t want to speak to anyone and only wanted to eat pasta, sponge and custard. I did lose a great deal to manic depression, my way of life has changed, sometimes I think for the better, others I mourn people and jobs long gone.

I know I have changed, I can fight my own corner if you like, no longer afraid to express an opinion. I know now that I can express myself through words and it does take away my pain and hurt and I also know that it connects with others too.

I now know what others knew so long ago, that I am different. Yes, I agree, it has taken me a long time to realise it but it is not a shame to be different. I am unique, and that needs to be celebrated. Just as the fact that we all are unique with our own thoughts, ideas and dreams. I say dare to be different.

If you would like to discover more about me see www.freewebs.com/manicpoet/

Or feel free to email me on pud44uk@yahoo.co.uk

Or if you have a book you want publishing check out www.chipmunkapublishing.com

Thank you for reading

Sue x