One year ago today, I walked into a psychiatrists office seeking some answers. My GP had seemingly had enough of not knowing what to do and had (after me asking) referred me to a psychiatrist.

But I didn’t walk out of the psychiatrists office that day with answers like I’d hoped for. I left with a diagnosis of Bipolar II, and a prescription for medication to start treatment straight away.

As the psychiatrist asked if I was experiencing any of the 7 diagnostic criteria for Bipolar, I answered yes to 5 of them—a sobering admission. Years of emotional suffering was being acknowledged out loud.

Deep down, I knew it. I’ve always experienced emotions intensely. I fight passionately, and I’m creatively driven to extremes. I just figured “this is the complexity of who I am, and I have to deal with it.”

I won’t be hard on myself though, because I contain multitudes. The (sometimes challenging) complexities of who I am, are also my gifts. I empathize deeply with humans, and my creative obsession has lead to some of the greatest projects of my life, like some mad physical fundraising challenges, solo travelling and a career in the emergency services. But there’s always a cost; like sometimes starting things I can’t finish and, relationships.

As oddly relieved as I was to finally feel seen that day, I still got into my car and burst into tears. “How will I live with this? This will be too much. I am too much.”

Bipolar disorder is so stigmatized, society had me convinced I might as well be hauled away in a straight jacket. Our culture has taught us to use mental illness slurs as an insult, “Britney Spears is so bipolar.” I’ve said it.

But actually, bipolar is a spectrum illness and isn’t as black and white as the name would suggest. There’s a lot of greyness, in fact, and no two people will experience it the same. I understand now, that my job, with Ellen on the Edge, but also as a person is to define MY territory in this space—not to define or judge yours or anyone else’s.

I spoke to several friends following my diagnosis, who reassured me that this wasn’t bad news. In fact, it was a gift—I had been given information to finally know myself better.

I sat with a blister pack of pills in my hand on that first morning, knowing that this medication was the start of something, who knew what the bloody outcome would be. (SPOILER: I still don’t).

But friends, if you break your leg, I hope you know that you do not have to keep hiking on a broken leg. I hope you take the necessary means to get your leg well again. I hope you go to the doctor. I hope you take time off to heal, rest, take nurofen, tell your friends when your leg hurts and even get a cast! But do not walk-off a broken leg in fear of loved ones abandoning you.

I received mixed opinions about whether or not to take the medication. Ultimately, it was my decision—even if it made conversations clunky and awkward.

360 days since starting my medicine, and 52 weeks of over-analysing how I feel every single day when I wake up, I keep saying to myself “so this is how I’m supposed to feel.”

I feared I would be numb, or in a fog—but I have some better clarity. I’ve had all of the side effects. But I am starting to get to know myself better. I can make meaning of my big feelings and I know how too properly self-care when I feel swings coming on (which is still big time happening). What I used to judge in Britney Spears, I can see and love her for, today.

Yoga, reading and time outside can be powerful tools in the aid of mental health. But I didn’t need another meditation app—I desperately needed permission to get help.

With the help of my medicine, I’m able to attempt to set boundaries, try and make peace with my body, make peace with food, slow down, and re-evaluate behaviours, relationships and priorities that I was not able to realistically achieve in the last few years. I’m still not quite able to accept change without flying off the hinges, but I do understand that the chemicals in my brain just need a little extra help. Life is hard, and I think I put a lot of expectation on myself to miraculously be able to accommodate Billy, after a year. Reality is, we have years ahead of us. Which sometimes feels like a life sentence.

I am not going to lie to you, I feel lost at the moment. I feel without purpose, and the world is hurting me. But I feel comfort (sort of) in talking to people who I know feel the same.

Please hear me when I say that if you need that extra something to get you through this time, or anytime… do it.

Medicine is a personal choice, of course. But if you need it; here is your permission. It’s more normal than you think.

And please remember that mental illness doesn’t define you, it’s just a part of the multitudes swirling inside that make you, YOU.

Here’s to you, Billy, Happy Anniversary.

Love,

Ellen on the Edge xx