My first (and so far only) manic episode happened when I was in my early sixties. I had to retire from the Army and the transition was difficult - I was a respected professional one day and nobody the next. This led to a period of depression for which I was prescribed anti-depressants which led to dangerous mania and psychosis exacerbated by my PTSD. I believed there were terrorists in my apartment block. I set off the fire alarm and attempted to break down doors. The police shepherded me into my apartment and the psychosis increased as I was on my own. Fortunately my wife came home early, just as I was about to leap off our balcony to grab a rope which was not there. I was sectioned for three weeks for my own safety.

I have been in Lithium since then and the dosage was successfully titrated three years ago: I take the prescribed medicine without fail; this is vital. The medicine has some undesirable side effects but without it my life, and the lives of my loved ones, could be miserable.

I have also played my part by making lifestyle changes. The adage “a healthy mind in a healthy body” holds true and exercise promotes a feeling of wellbeing. I always knew that smoking and excess drinking weren’t good for me and the desire to prevent another manic episode was the necessary motivation to kick these habits.

I was also advised to study my illness. The more I understood my condition, the more I was able to work with it. My studies also led to a role as a peer trainer giving me a renewed sense of purpose. I share my story with the media, charities, service improvement working groups and self- help groups which adds to my sense of self-worth.

I have been lucky to develop these roles and they arose from a need to be active. In the same way as physical exercise helps the body, mental exercise helps the mind. I believe that being active, and having human contact, has been hugely important in my recovery. Writing is a new venture for me and it they occupies my time productively. 

I should acknowledge that there is a lot of help available; recovery is not an individual endeavour and a team approach is needed for success. The local authority, the NHS and charities can arrange benefits, training, employment support, peer support, self-help groups and counselling. Family and friends play their part too. 

My wife has been my rock during my recovery: she provides unconditional love and care, and she stands by me even in the difficult times. From the very first when she prevented my leap from the balcony and, through watching over me to ensure I stayed on track with my recovery, she has epitomised the “in sickness and in health” vow we made.

Since my breakdown I have had no recurrences of depression or mania and I am happy and well. I have dedicated myself to my recovery and I hope my story can be a source of inspiration.

~

NO MORE PITY

I’m limping now but back in the day, I could speed march the soldier’s way.

Training hard and ready for war, serving Queen 30 years and more.

But then through age my time was done: an end to travel, mates and fun.

No more need for all my powers, hero to zero in 24 hours.

Wanted a job but doomed to fail, because I’m male, pale and stale.

Doc gives me pills so I’m not lazy, but I’m Bipolar so they send me crazy.

It’s off to hospital for me, but in my head I’m on TV.

I’m having fun but my wife can see, this is not the place for me.

She sets me free from the way I look; what she does for me fills a book.

Endless love and endless care, when I need her she is there.

My CPN treats me well, no more need on my illness to dwell.

I’m training hard, like before, but now my mind is what it’s for.

The Recovery College comes into my life; now for me there’s no more strife.

Through them I have learned so much about Bipolar, Psychosis and such.

And now I am a College Peer, my thanks to them for all to hear.

Day by day I’m getting stronger, ‘broken Nick’ I am no longer.

So bye bye pity GO AWAY, for tomorrow will be a good day.



PTSD

I'm on ops in Iraq, at the HQ out the back.

Boom a rocket hits the ground, I cower in fear at the sound.

The next is closer and the third, louder each sound that I heard.

OH NO! They always fire four, after this I’ll be no more.

Close my eyes and start to pray, but I’ve forgotten what to say.

Two more seconds and I’ll be dead, racing thoughts going through my head.

Precious silence - a duff fuse - it’s not the time for my life to lose.

I tell the story to brothers in arms and make it funny so there are no alarms.

But then, after fourteen years, there’s a bomb between my ears.

“Get the terrorists” the voices say, and I’m creating havoc through the day.

Policemen come to stop the fuss, but no way I’ll get on their bus.

They escort me back into our flat and for them that is that.

I disappear inside my head and by the voices I am led.

The urges get dark and deep: they want me to take a leap.

On the balcony ready to fall, but then the sound of my wife’s call.

Then the ambo turns up here, green uniforms so no need to fear.

A hospital stay is what I need, then a calmer life for me to lead.

Pills and talking make me steady, and for the world I’m then ready.

But something’s still not quite right, as sometimes I’m back in the fight. 

Finally I’m treated for PTSD, and from the nightmares I am now free.



MY WIFE - MY CARER

We signed our names in the registry book: together forever the oaths we took.

Things were great for the first ten years, but then there was an alien voice in my ears.

After hospital I’m sort of free, but my wife’s now my carer and she looks after me. 

So check the book that we both signed – nothing about caring in there you’ll find.

No respite for her it’s day and night; each time I flip out it gives her a fright.

Meds set and ready on the table, hoping in time they’ll make me more stable.

Waits patiently when I get manic, stays calm and doesn’t panic.

Untrained, unpaid looks after me well, even though I make life a living hell.

Nurse, chauffeur and much much more, it’s not what she signed the register for.

But unconditional love is always there, providing for me the perfect care. 

Selfless commitment, devotion and more; her dedication is proven that’s for sure.

I ask her why, she says: “You’re my man”. How do I repay her? Starting with this poem I’ll see if I can.

My wife - My Carer – My Love

She used to look at me through the corner of her eye.

Now she doesn’t need to.