Diary of a Diagnosis

A fortnightly ritual to healing...and an introduction

This is Me - Bipolar and Fabulous.

“I’m sorry Maja. Bipolar is a serious illness and I’m just not ready to have it in my life.”

So, she said to me. My best friend. My matron of honour. A woman I’d become closer to than my own sister in the ten years I’d known her. I wish I’d had the option of checking out of bipolar disorder too but but it was my diagnosis to bear. Oh well. As they say in the classics, “Sometimes them’s the breaks kid”. I still occasionally dream about her and when I do, I wake with a hot pang of anxiety and regret. Could I have done anything differently? Maybe on reflection, our friendship wasn’t a great loss but it was painful in a year of great losses. My mental health being one. Could a diagnosis be any less convenient?

At this point, I should say – Hi. My name is Maja and one of the extraordinary gifts I’ve been granted is that I live with bipolar. Indeed, it’s serious mental illness that has taken me on many journeys, most of which I am proud to be grateful for. If you have time, I’d love to explore some of those stories here with you now and going into the future. This medium offers us a little more room to explore without the distraction of condensed captions or the short attention spans that come with Instagram posts. Without the restriction of hard narratives or fixed timelines or diary entries that pick up slowly through the minutes of days, weeks and months. Through prose that suits lived experience and all its opinions. Through verse that flows freely when a manic episode is approaching. And (of course) through poetry, because it truly is the vital language of the blessed creatives.

And if the singular plot line of Icarus interests you then I have many strings to add to that bow. Many manic fantasy flights that have brought me close to the sun. Often too close for comfort, but the stories, while my skin still resonates with those glorious refractions, tell themselves. About God’s and demi-gods who have held doors open, held my hand through psychosis and guided me gently back down to the ground. About nurses and doctors in all their evil and wicked permutations also. About plummeting suddenly into abysses so dark they absorb all matter and life and hope too. I survived all of them and in the fourteen years since my diagnosis, I have learned to be grateful for balance, stability and moderation. But that’s not why you’re here. We’re here for the joy, the depths, the multi-focal lenses that see forward in time and backward into dark histories. The creative edges that line the edges of so many people with mental illness. And we’re here to talk frankly about the difficulties of stigma that dog us fabulous people.

It is my hope, that eventually, I can tie some of these loose ends together here and create something wholesome, lush, beautiful and concrete. Maybe for the stage. Maybe for the screen. Wholly truthful (except when it’s fantastical). Mostly respectable (except when lewdness is called for). Kind and respectful – balanced and nuanced – and if it makes you laugh inappropriately – we’re all learning.

Welcome to ‘Diary of a Diagnosis’.

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