Britney, Amy Winehouse, Pete Doherty, they have become a part of the British publics daily exposure ~ the latest brawl, drunken escapade or drug fueled cry for help. But to what extent should the media take such coverage, and what, are we supposed to feel towards such behaviour anyway? Personally, I got to the point where I became sick of the sight of them and wished that more attention would be lavished upon real, world wide issues. Then, upon suffering a break down last December (that saw me embark upon my own drunken binges) I began to feel pity for such celebs, and realised that maybe, just maybe, there is an underlying cause or issue beneath the surface. As Britney was admitted to hospital and it was suggested that she may in fact, be suffering with Bipolar (manic depression) I suddenly felt a surge of anger.
My life has been one that has been colourful, for want of a better term, but I would not have it any other way. During bad periods, I can go for months without working, during a good period, I have been known to travel around the world alone just for the challenge. Part of this, is my nature, typical Sagittarian behaviour, and I was born in the year of the dragon too, so what do you expect !? But at the end of last year, an alternative explanation was offered, and it was the dreaded BP. The breakdown was just the end result of months of me slowly .. Well, breaking down ! My moods became more and more erratic, and I simply put it down to the jet lag from a trip to China that I never seemed to snap out of. Friends and family told me that I had not been myself, and so I went to see the Doctor, who said that depression seemed to be the most likely diagnosis. I had suffered with it at the age of 18 and so knew what to expect, but this felt somewhat "different". Besides, months off work on Prozac was just out of the question. I was about to fly out to Verona, Italy, to embark upon another contract teaching English. I did not need this, not now !
When I missed the flight over there, because of a panic attack, I knew that I really had to take action, this just was not me. I went to see my GP again, who suggested that I take Seroxat (also known as Paxil). However, I had read so much bad press on it, that I wanted to try and fight the depression by myself. Two weeks later, I was successful in boarding the plane, and I began my new life in Italy. All should have been hunky-dory… I loved Italy and had lived there in the past. I was back where I call home, and had a great new job, with an amazing city centre apartment. But something was just not right. I couldn't sleep. I would burst into tears for no apparent reason and most days I felt like somebody had a remote control that could alter my moods and whoever it was, was not my biggest fan, because they were turning the power switch up and down…
Finally, to add to the craziness of it all, I found a lump in my breast (that turned out to be a cyst) and flew home to England, declaring that I simply could not take anymore. Whilst being treated for the cyst, my GP asked about the "moods" and I explained that I truly felt like I was out of control. I was down in the dumps one minute, the next - angry as hell, screaming like a wild cat at my family and pushing friends away like they were going out of fashion. Again, Seroxat was suggested, but I explained that I really did not feel comfortable in taking it. I left the surgery in tears that day, when I was told that no other drug could be offered, if I refused Seroxat, then it was down to me to go and find an alternative medication of a herbal kind.
Left to my own devices, I began to not dress. Days consisted of me surfing the internet, eating as and when I remembered, and sleep had become a thing of the past. Those who encountered me were scared to say the wrong thing, incase I flew into a rage. I even began to think about suicide. Finally, on my 31st Birthday, I went out with my biological mum (I was adopted when I was a baby so have two mums) got horrendously drunk and wound up going home, assaulting my sister and shouting at my nephews. I don't remember a great deal, but my sister called the hospital and that is where I spent the last few hours of my birthday, talking to a psychiatrist.
