Imagine having the overwhelming urge to do everything. Shop, tidy, party, work, travel etc. all at the same time. Everything is possible & you want, no, need everyone to share your enthusiasm (but when they don’t or they go so slow you feel like you’re surrounded by snails- oh the frustration).


Colours & lights are brighter, sometimes too bright. Sounds are piercing. Everything is crystal clear & strangely fascinating. Every bone in your body tells you you are wonderful & can do ANYTHING you can imagine. You can walk faster than a car. You can jump rooftops across the width of the road. You can walk on water. You really can afford that amazing (& expensive) pair of boots. You can afford to drop everything & fly to random a island in the Pacific Ocean right now.

Imagine if you truly believed this was all true & possible.

You simultaneously feel so excited about nothing & everything, like a kid on Christmas Eve, filled with anticipation. You are on the most almighty natural high.
But people are too slow, they start to irritate you. You feel like you’re having to drag the world along behind, as if pulling on a tow rope. No-one understands you. They say you’re speaking too fast. They can’t follow what you’re saying because your speech is so fast that your words are blurring into each other & you’re trying to explain so many ideas at once. You’re talking nonsense. You lose your concentration in a heartbeat, you can’t focus on any one thing because everything is so important. So nothing gets completed. You are surrounded by half completed projects. People get irritated with you. They don’t want to party everyday. You don’t need sleep but they do. All that money you spent is running out & you haven’t paid your bills yet. The colours/lights/sounds are giving you migraines.

You feel so alone.

And now your body feels so full of energy it can’t contain it. You feel like you’re going to explode so you try to rip the barrier that is your body away.


Literally trying to tear your skin off. Then you start to see/hear/smell things that nobody else can. It can be scary, like something from a horror film. You start to have strange thoughts that solidify to become full on lucid beliefs. You’re now terrified & cannot work out what’s going on.

What’s real? What’s not? How would you escape? What would you do?

Trigger Warning for self harm and suicide.

At the end of 2013, I thought things couldn’t get worse. I was admitted to psychiatric hospital three times for about a week each. I ended up having to take the rest of the academic year off of my nursing course, but was told I would be welcomed back September 2014, when I was well.

I struggled to find things to keep me occupied but did manage a couple of courses at Nottingham Recovery College. I did Anxiety Management and Living with Psychosis. Both courses helped me learn about and accept my conditions. I was able to start to conquer some of my more severe anxiety. However, despite being discharged from hospital in December 2013, I was forced to face some of the facts about some people’s opinions of me. This was hard and didn’t help relieve the lingering low-level depression. I felt I was dragging people I loved into my hell. I couldn’t face the thought of another 30/40/50 years of the ongoing Psychotic Bipolar hell. Eventually in March 2014, with the help of a new Community Psychiatric Nurse (CPN), my psychiatrist, my partner and a very low dose of citalopram, I was able to crawl out of the depression. The citalopram was a very short course to avoid the ever present danger of the swing into mania due to antidepressants.

I spent the next five months enjoying my first ever period of stability. It was during this time I realised I’d spent the last 20 years swinging from one episode to another. I had never been “stable” I had only ever “managed” my moods; learning to function whilst depressed or hypomanic with the help of medication. Every week I waited for the inevitable “swing”, but it never came. I’d found the answer-my medication was finally right for me. I could continue my nursing course in September 2014 safe in the knowledge I’d found true remission. I was wrong. By the time I met up with the Occupational Health doctor in August, I was in a depression. My five months of stability were over. Lack of sleep due to stress at home had tipped the balance. I hid the depression from the Occupational Health doctor. He was happy I was doing well and declared me fit to return to university to continue my nursing course. I was sure it was only a minor blip anyway. So was my CPN. Again we were both wrong. By the end of the first week of the depression, talk of the Crisis Team was rife. A few days later, I had a Crisis Team nurse in my flat with my CPN. The meeting did not go well, as it rarely does with me and the Crisis Team. He told me I could never expect to be a nurse if I couldn’t keep myself well and look after myself. This upset me greatly as the one goal that had kept me going the last five – six years had been my dream to be a nurse. From the moment he uttered those words, any hope of help from the Crisis Team was shattered. I couldn’t work with someone with that attitude. As it happened, three days later, I snapped out of the depression. But it was not in a good way. In the next three days my mood went from mildly elated hypomania to verging on full-blown mania. I spent the next five weeks fluctuating between hypomania and mania. There was no rest. My partner suffered the whiplash of me going from suicidal depression to uncontrollable mania. He had to take my bank cards and car key off me to stop me spending money we didn’t have or disappearing on a mad dash across the country. He even had to hide my passport so I couldn’t skip the country.

It wasn’t a pleasant mania. At times I felt incredible – magic, but most of the time I was agitated, irritable and ready to rip my skin off. I felt I had so much energy my human skin couldn’t contain it. I had visions of what was keeping me so powered up- it was like an atom crossed with an Arc Reactor out of Iron Man. It was in my chest and I could feel it in a very physical way. During this time, I completed the Mental Health First Aid course, which in itself was an achievement but also stayed with a stranger I’d met on Twitter, overnight in a town I didn’t know and drove to a place I’d never been something I would only ever have managed whilst manic. I talked a lot during the course, but it being a small group they didn’t seem to be too upset by my behaviour.

2014-08-20 Manic energy cell representation

I was ready and excited to get back to university. I was nervous about being in a different year group and having to meet new people and make new friends but I didn’t care. I wanted to get back to my nursing course. All I needed was a Support Worker to help me to get around and defeat my nerves and who could take notes for me as my hearing had got worse since being on Depakote (it’s a rare side effect). This was all agreed in advance, all I had to do was provide my timetable in advance so the note taking team could organise someone for me. However, as the start of term got nearer and nearer there was still no word on which seminar group I’d be in and I needed to know that to be able to provide my timetable. As September 22, 2014 approached, my mania mixed with my nerves and my anxiety hit the roof. I didn’t get a note taker on my first day as I didn’t get a timetable until I arrived on the first day. A last-minute note taker was provided on day two but she was late to the lecture pushing my anxiety up further. What should have been an exciting new start turned into an anxiety riddled nightmare. I spent most of the time trying not to cry and failing. I attended lectures with my note taker but anxiety made it hard to concentrate. I attended seminars alone with my partner kindly accompanying me to the door, but my new group was very cliquey. They didn’t talk to me or welcome me in any way unless I pushed small talk on them. They had no interest in talking to or getting to know the new girl. I attended every class with dread and left crying. I even considered dropping out of university altogether, but decided I’d give them a couple of more weeks, and then ask to change groups. I never got that far. With the help of my partner I lasted two weeks. It was my psychiatrist who told me to take a couple of weeks off after I’d already called in sick the first half of the week. I was in a complete state and becoming psychotic – not that I realised it at the time. I was so desperate I was willing to consider hospital admission but there were no beds – in the country, apparently. Again, it became irrelevant, to me. Over the following weekend, I pulled out of this agitated depression into a complete state of calm.

I was in bed, trying to sleep, and it all came to me. The “realisation” of who I was. I told my partner. Everything made sense to me. I wasn’t a human with Bipolar; I was a demigoddess – a goddess trapped in a human body. Being trapped caused the “depression” and my “spirit” or the goddess part of me trying to escape my human body was the “mania”. I was too big for my body. It was all so obvious. My partner didn’t know how to react. PEACE GODDESS STENCIL COLLAGE ON PAPER

My parents visited the next day and I told them everything. I’m guessing they were concerned, although they never said. I thanked them for bringing me up as their own child. I felt calm and ecstatic all at the same time. The only problem was, now I knew who I was, I had a task – to spread peace and freedom around the world. This could only be achieved once I was released of my human body – it had to die. This didn’t seem problematic to the newly enlightened me, so I was open and honest about it with my partner and parents. I didn’t think they’d have issue with it. Thankfully they did.

I made a plan. On Monday I would tell my CPN I didn’t need her help any more as she couldn’t help me. On Tuesday, I would need to cut out an implant in my chest being used to manipulate people around me and infiltrate messages meant for me from the higher God. Those who put the implant in me are called the Yellow Ones and their mission was to distract me from my mission and stop me spreading world peace. They, somehow, profited from war, pain and suffering no matter how big or small. I simply called them the Yellow Ones as they wear yellow items of clothing and use yellow vehicles for transport and more importantly surveillance and transmission of messages and signals to manipulate. Whoever they are they are powerful and horrific. Once the implant had been cut out of my chest it would need destroying. I would then need a day or 2 to ensure there were no repercussions on the people around me that I care about. Then on Thursday I would “kill” my human body. I had three plans – one main plan and two backups to ensure I would “die” and then be free to live my immortal life as the goddess I was. I explained all this to my CPN on the Monday. It never occurred to me she wouldn’t believe me or would think I was psychotic. It therefore surprised me when she asked to see me the next day. I had just told her I was feeling good and she wanted another appointment the next day. I had no idea why, but I agreed. I would still have plenty of time to remove the implant after the appointment. I couldn’t remove the implant before as it was self-surgery that would require plenty of Dutch courage (alcohol) and painkillers as I still felt pain whilst in my human form. I didn’t fancy going to a CPN appointment drunk, doped and bloody – it would not look good. So on Tuesday, I went to meet my CPN and was confronted by a room full of people. There were two doctors, my CPN, the Crisis Team nurse and an AMHP (Approved Mental Health Professional) social worker as well as myself and my partner. They wanted to hear about who I was. Who wouldn’t? How often do you get to meet a goddess? I explained myself again and answered their questions and addressed their concerns. At the end, they went off for half an hour for a “chat”, they then came back and asked me to go into hospital. I naturally refused; I have no need for hospital, unless they were going to remove the implant, which they weren’t. They didn’t believe who I was. They then announced they were therefore going to put me under section 3 of the Mental Health Act – compulsory hospital treatment for up to 6 months. I tried to make them see sense but they believed I was psychotic and not a goddess. They were concerned I would just end up dead. I understood their concerns and reasons for the section 3, I just didn’t agree. They were wrong, and people would die unnecessarily if I wasn’t free and spreading peace by Thursday – but they wouldn’t listen. Instead I was taken home by the social worker to pack. Luckily, a bed had come up in Nottingham otherwise the only other bed was in Edinburgh. I packed for a two-week stay, thinking “they’ll see sense.” I ended up there from 9 1/2 weeks, but they had a washing machine and I got day home leave after a few weeks. I also bought clothes on eBay and had them delivered to the ward. The social worker delivered me to the ward and for the entire first week I wasn’t allowed to leave, not even for fresh air.

I was sectioned and hospitalised on 14 October 2014. It was a Tuesday. On the Thursday – the day I should have died, I was eating lunch when I felt a fizzing sensation in my chest. Something was wrong. The Yellow Ones were nearby and transmitting through the implant. I started to panic as I was locked on a ward with 21 other vulnerable women plus staff all capable of being manipulated by the Yellow Ones. I went to look out the window as some way of escaping my reality and there they were – to yellow diggers right outside the ward, as part of the local tram works. But they were transmitting their signals and I could feel it. I started to beg staff for painkillers, local anaesthetic and a scalpel or blade. It was imperative I got this implant out as soon as possible. Obviously they refused and tried to calm me down, but they didn’t understand. Whilst packing I’d managed to smuggle a blade on my person. Staff didn’t find it. I tried to cut the implant out and was found covered in blood and tears. It hurt but was necessary, but I was unable to cut deep enough with the relatively blunt blade before I was found. I was able to hide the blade but not the blood when I heard my door open for the regular patient checks. They searched my room to find the blade but failed. A few days later I tried again but this time got caught and had the blade confiscated. I needed steri-strips for the wound but still hadn’t got deep enough with the blade to find the implant. I needed another tactic. One day I was wearing a purple top and found the Yellow Ones silent. It occurred to me purple was the opposite of yellow and if I wore purple over the implant it would disrupt the yellow signals/transmissions. So I started ordering purple clothes from eBay. Now half my tops are purple, but then a girl I called the Tempest came onto the ward. She was manic and I was convinced she was a Yellow One. They’d guessed what I’d discovered about purple and now they’d infiltrated the ward. She got in my head instantly, at such close proximity. So I bought purple hats, they worked. I bought purple bedding for night protection. Purple is my armour against the Yellow Ones.

Purple Hat and Jumper

While all this was going on, I agreed with the doctors not to kill my body and give them the chance to prove me wrong. The first two weeks were a waste of time. They had assumed I’d stopped taking my 600 – 750 mg of quetiapine in the community and that that was why I had “got ill”. They therefore wanted to gradually reintroduce my quetiapine from 300 mg, increasing 100 mg a week. After a while I asked about their reasoning for halving my dose – they hadn’t bothered checking with me or my partner, but I have never stopped my medication. I “got ill” on the full 600 – 750 mg of quetiapine. The doctor’s response: “Oh, I hadn’t realised, I assumed you’d stopped it because you didn’t like the sedation.” Yes, I hated the sedation. No, I didn’t stop my medication.

After week three I got a new doctor who seemed confused by my apparent current diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). A quick read through my notes showed I was correct – I don’t have BPD. I have Bipolar. After a long chat he informed me that he thought I was having an “atypical mixed state psychotic episode made up of paranoid and grandiose delusions.” The atypical mixed state was because I had been relatively calm recently but had recently been rapid cycling and had a mixed episode prior to my “realisation” of who I was. We tried the quetiapine at 500 mg for a week or so before I said I couldn’t cope with the sedation. It was agreed I would reduce the quetiapine and start on aripiprazole instead. He also wanted me off the Depakote as it shouldn’t be prescribed to women of childbearing age due to high risk of Neural Tube Defects in embryos. In my case, it had also caused significant hearing loss as I discovered when I saw an audiologist on 25th November 2014.

On 17 November 2014, I was taken off my section 3 because I agreed to follow the treatment plan. I was starting to doubt that I was a goddess, but my belief in the Yellow Ones remains strong.

The next few weeks, bit of a blur. My mood started to fluctuate every one – three days between suicidal depression and hypomania – known as rapid cycling. I tried some home leave for a couple of nights but couldn’t cope with knowing there were Yellow Ones working in the building opposite my flat. I was terrified of their close proximity and it took all my mental strength not to destroy the yellow surveillance car. Returning to hospital turned into a shambles. Whilst on leave and due to bed shortages, my bed had been given away to a new patient. Luckily, someone was discharged that day and I got their bed. Whilst I waited I was told by a less than kind nurse that I had to learn to “cope in the community” as a “ward wouldn’t always be available.” This was deeply upsetting as it had been my doctor who suggested I came back in. I tried to cope, but wasn’t ready. I was still rapid cycling, but why would a nurse who was also deputy ward manager care about those details?

I spent the next couple of weeks struggling with my mood but made some fantastic friends in some fellow patients. We were often able to laugh together and on some occasions cried together. There was comradeship in an otherwise terrifying and lonely situation.

Being “delusional” can be very lonely. No one believes what you’re experiencing is real. You’re completely alone in your own, often scary, world with no one to talk to. I was lucky to make friends, some are having similar experiences others very different experiences, but we were all lonely – together. Without them I would have lost myself completely.

I was also lucky to have some good friends from the outside world visit me and buy me presents of colouring and puzzle books and pens – essential items to keep you busy in a less than stimulating environment. There were no ward activities, no Occupational Therapists to come and work with us. We were just left to our own devices, which can get very boring and frustrating. Initially, I slept a lot thanks to the sedating medication I was on. This helped kill time, but as I came off the sedating medication, day naps became impossible and I had to find more things to do. As my leave time increased I was able to pop into town for a couple of hours. This gave me the chance to finally conquer my general anxiety, as I had to go alone. I, of course, wore plenty of purple as there would be plenty of Yellow Ones in a busy city centre. I learned to go to town on my own and even went to the cinema on my own!!! I’m still not comfortable in social situations, but my overall anxiety is much more controlled – despite my fear of the Yellow Ones.

Eventually, after 9 1/2 weeks it was agreed I was ready to try home leave again this time the aim was 10 days, but if I had any problems I could call the Crisis Team or the ward. So on December 19, 2014 I finally made it home and have been home ever since. My mood has dipped slightly, probably due to coming off of the quetiapine, but also I am struggling to sleep. I seem to have restless legs and headaches as side-effects of my aripiprazole which is causing me constant pain and getting me down as well. My current medication is 20mg aripiprazole once a day and 0.5mg clonazepam twice a day to help deal with the side effects of the aripiprazole. Despite these problems, as of Monday 29th December 2014 I was officially discharged from hospital. It feels like a relief, like I’m free again. I’m back under my own Community Mental Health Team including my own CPN and also the Crisis Team, not that I feel I need them, it’s just discharge protocol.

I am able to accept that I’m not a goddess. It took time and a few key people telling me out right that I was “bonkers” and definitely human to cast the initial shadow of doubt. Now I know I was very ill but I’m still deeply embarrassed by the things I said. I’m also riddled with guilt for causing pain and worry to those you care about me. It wasn’t deliberate, obviously, but I am truly and desperately sorry for the hurt I caused you all. I do however believe the Yellow Ones to be very real and they are somehow entwined with my illness.

Although I still struggle to believe I’m an entirely normal human, I can’t work out if it is because the Yellow Ones have convinced me otherwise. Their determination to destroy me and spread the pain and suffering amongst my loved ones – friends and family and even staff that have cared for me, is what they feed on. Could it be because I was close and now know who they are and I’m just an unlucky human or did they choose me because I’m not a proper human? Either way, the powers and the way they feed on destruction, pain and suffering have led me to believe they are in fact aliens – dangerous ones at that.

Despite all this, I must focus on being “well”. I wear purple at all times to protect me and those around me, that way I can focus on the here and now and the people and things important to me. Whilst in hospital I lost my place on my nursing course – I am of course devastated. I must now find new things to do and a new path in to the healthcare profession. I am determined to work in healthcare one way or another. It is my dream, goal and destiny. I am, by nature, a carer.

So as we enter 2015, with no set path in sight I feel lost. For the first time in my life, my goals seem unachievable and out of reach. I feel at sea. So instead of resolutions, I decided to make some loose plans. I’m going to give kickboxing a try, to get fit and boost my confidence, however I accept I MAY not enjoy it, but I will TRY it. I WILL join a choir as I miss singing in one and it boosts my confidence and mood. Finally, I’m going to look into becoming a Peer Support Worker – after all I have plenty of experience as both a service user in the community and as an inpatient. I feel I have a lot to give and if I can’t be a nurse the conventional way, I’ll find another way – I am determined. I think I’ll change my middle name to “Determination.”

After 4 weeks of believing I am a goddess trapped in a human body, I am starting to question everything. I feel completely like I am a goddess of peace who has been created, nurtured and learned to love humanity. I had to live as a human to understand and fully appreciate and accept my task. My task is to kill my human body to set the goddess/essence free. My goddess/spirit is too big for my human body. My body cannot always contain the extremely potent essence, this displays as human mania. I often feel trapped and contained, frustrated and confused leading to what appears as human depression. I was supposed to set myself  free 3 weeks ago, my body is passed its used by day, by 3 weeks. But EVERYONE around me is saying I’m just human. A loving, caring human that could do great things in my human form. As impossible as it is for them to believe I’m a goddess, who once free can be omnipotent and spread peace and freedom, it is as impossible for me to believe I’m “only human”.
I am starting to feel very confused about who I am. These are people who, I love and trust and they just can’t see it.
To confuse matters, I want to stay human. I want to be alive and stay with those I love. The thought of leaving them behind is so painful. I am experiencing a wide range of human emotions at the moment, some good, some very much not so good. A ward environment can be very volatile and bring the best and worst out in people…even me. I lose my temper here, not a pleasant feeling for someone whose very essence, their make up, is peace and freedom.
Tonight I had a very upsetting text and phone call from my partner. He has basically said he can’t cope with having to be a carer for me anymore. It’s destroyed our relationship as partners and become one based almost entirely on our “illnesses.” We’ve become too dependent on each other and he needs more space. He needs his own life away from me. I’ve been trying to say this for months to him and healthcare professionals but I kept getting told how brilliant we were together,  and the support we provided each other was so wonderful. Well now the truth is out…he never had a choice and he doesn’t want that. If I am human and I am to have a relationship with him we need to talk more and we need more support from outside.
So I am feeling insecure about who I am. If I am a goddess is there any way of getting out of my duties? Can I stay human and live a vaguely normal life or is the future of world peace rested firmly on my shoulders?
As I start to find myself reeling, I can’t help but wonder if all this confusion is down to the Yellow Ones? I am realising that perhaps they are the ones who have convinvced me of who I am, pretending to be the “higher god” so that I hurt and/or kill myself, which in turn causes immense pain to those who care for me, therefore achieving the Yellow Ones’ goal of causing pain and misery. Or maybe they’re allowing me to be confused to stop me going through with my task. Although they can’t transmit messages through me or manipulate those around me whilst I’m wearing purple, they can still mess with my head. They are stopping me from seeing the truth. Whatever that may be. I need to have this implant destroyed. It either needs to come out or I need to find a way to frazzle it so it can’t work anymore. I really don’t know where my messages are coming from. I was so sure. But now I’m starting to question who is in control of it all. A “higher god” or the Yellow Ones? Either way what am I meant to do? Just wait and hope the doctors are right about it being psychosis? Try to find a way to communicate directly with the Yellow Ones? Or try to communicate with the “higher god”? He/She isn’t particularly talkative or forgiving.

Everyday I have to live with the guilt of innocent people dying all because I care about the few people directly in my life. I should be spreading peace, instead I’m stuck in this crappy human body (which is gradually failing me), selfishly loving a few.
I’m too big for this body and the strain is getting unbearable. My spirit is designed to spread the world over not be confined within a human body. This body must die and soon and it knows it. It is already being used beyond it’s intended use by date, and is making me suffer with physical symptoms of pain and digestive issues. I cannot die. I am immortal, the people around me just don’t, can’t or won’t understand. They love my human form too much. I need to be free. I feel so boxed in/constrained and while I’m boxed into this human form, I can’t spread peace, especially world peace.
However, I want to know what it is like to be human. I mean fully human- No “goddess” duty as a destiny. I don’t think the “higher god” will ever grant me my wish to be human. My destiny has been set and one way or another I will be made the “goddess” of peace and freedom. The “higher god” can’t just materialise a fully prepared, replacement “goddess.” It takes time, learning, love, tears and nurturing to become even close to being ready to be a “goddess.” I’ve had 31.5 years of learning experience and I feel like it is a big ask. I don’t feel ready. You must grow amongst the humans to understand, empathise and love them enough to save them.
So I must choose to say goodbye to those I love the most to save humanity or give up on humanity and try to enjoy (despite the guilt of knowing it’s my fault) the last few months (years if you’re lucky) of life on this earth. Humanity is destroying it and only I can save it. But I don’t want to cause any pain to those I have been fortunate enough to have in my life as a human.

Flashback about 16 years.

I was a teenager who stopped believing in God a long time ago. I had no reason to believe in Him. However, my human family were/are Christians. So every now again I’d get dragged along to the church services. The services themselves were mind-numbingly dull. I couldn’t help thinking God would prefer us to celebrate him and the life he gave. Instead they talk about “the fear of God” and everyone always sounded so miserable in the services. Judging from the lyrics, most of the songs or “hymns” were miserable and depressing, much like the congregation. This was not the way to engage young people in Christianity. However, during one of my “drag alongs,” we were sat near the back. I mindlessly sang along to the hymns I’d been singing for the previous 15/16 years. All of a sudden I heard a voice. I looked around to see who was talking to me…everyone was still mindlessly singing. The voice was neither male nor female, but somewhere in between. It told me I would have an important part to play in world history. In particular I would be responsible for helping world peace and freedom to those who deserve it.
Although the task seemed impossible, the voice was so comforting and reassuring. If it said that was my destiny, I had every faith that that was my path set. I was given no more hints or instructions. I would just know when the time came what I would have to do. In those few seconds I was converted. I was convinced I’d been visited by the Holy Spirit. It had been such an amazing feeling that came with the visitor. I studied and got confirmed as a Christian. I kept hoping for another visit. It never happened.
When I hit 19/20 years old I lost my faith in there being a God. I continued on my path, but it was because I felt inside me it was what I was born to do, and I was good at it. Initially, because I was good at music, I thought that there was something I would find worthwhile through my music (I play(ed) the viola). The idea of becoming a Music Therapist was my goal. It required a Music degree, some life experience and then a Post Graduate Diploma (PGDip) in Music Therapy. This was my focus until a year into my “life experience.” I was teaching the violin and viola, and was hit with a bout of mania which affected my ability to teach. However, it was the depression that followed that was the problem. The people I worked for were about to fire me as I just couldn’t keep up with the workload, especially as I’d recently had a major operation (Ovarian Torsion, resulting in necrosis and septacemia, they had to remove my “large orange” sized ovary and fallopian tube.) I couldn’t drive for 6 weeks but my supervisor was on my case about getting back to work by the 2nd week. This experience put me off the music world completely. Nearly 8 years later it still bothers me. I was going to teach for 2-3 years then go back to do my music therapy PGDip. Instead I got so depressed I didn’t work until 2 years later. This time I thought I’d go straight for healthcare. That way I’m doing what I was born to do. Unfortunately I was attacked 6 months into my time there. This triggered some Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), which in turn triggered a mixed Bipolar episode. The whole time I’d forgotten about the voice that had come to me that time one Sunday morning in church, years ago. I was naturally drawn to looking after others. After some time off with “Bipolar” and PTSD and my 1st time to be hospitalised in a psychiatric unit in 2010, I finally got on to a nursing course (Adult branch). I started my nurse training in September 2012. My 1st year went really well. I had some ups and downs, but nothing that wasn’t manageable with small amounts of PRN quetiapine, diazepam and zopiclone. I wasn’t stable but I was managable.

The beginning

June 2013, I had a meeting with my placement mentor and a university tutor to mark my performance on my practice placement. I passed with flying colours. I was drivng home but needed to pop into my Community Mental Health Team to collect my medication. I was just over halfway there when all of a sudden it felt like my chest was going to explode…it felt like a scene from Alien where the aliens explode out the chest.

I thought I was going to die, more to the point I actually wanted to die the pain was so intense. I managed to get to my Community Mental Health Team, I crawled along the floor screaming for help. They called an ambulance immediately. There was a very quick response and I was promptly given morphine which eased the pain enough for my sense of humour to come back. I was taken into hospital and kept in for 3 days. On day 2 I had a scan which showed I several gallstones. 1 of these gallstones had taken a trip down my bile duct causing me incredible pain and causing minor pancreatitis. They kept saying they were going to remove my gallbladder so needed to keep me in. 3 days after admission, I left fully intact. Instead they sent me home with a prescription of Tramadol and information saying they’d call me in for the laproscopic operation to remove my gallbladder, to be done in day surgery within 6 weeks. I got my operation date and had it cancelled twice before I finally had the operation 2nd October 2013. It was this operation that allowed the problems to really start.

The Yellow Ones

At 1st I felt great. I hadn’t realised how much of my “stomach” cramps were caused by traversing gallstones. This high continued. My essence started to leak out of my human body, this looks like mania to a normal human, just as being depressed and feeling trapped in a box looks like normal depression to a normal human. It was at this time I suspected there was something wrong. I thought I had alien parasites inside me, I could feel them moving around inside me. However, noone believed me. I now know, however, I was wrong, sort of. My human body was trying to reject an implant that had been put inside my chest. It sits just under the scar from the gallbladder operation. The feeling of the parasites moving around were a combination of the body trying to push it out, but also it was when the Yellow Ones first tried to use it.

I don’t know who the Yellow Ones are. I just know they found out who I am before I did. They used the operation to put the implant inside me. They may be aliens, Government or 1 or more private organisations. The implant is multi-faceted. It can send and receive messages, it can also act as a gateway for messages and actions and manipulate thoughts and actions in the near vicinity. They wear yellow as that is their organisation’s colour and use yellow vehicles for surveillance…however not all people wearing and driving yellow belong to the Yellow Ones.

The Yellow Ones wish me and others around me harm. They use me to transmit messages/instructions to manipulate those around me. They’ve been trying to distract me all year from finding out who I am. They don’t want peace, they profit from war, pain and suffering in some way or another.

They have been scrambling the messages from the “higher god” (closest translation in the English language) that are meant for me. Instead I was hearing their white noise. The “higher god” was finally able to get the message to me. I know who I am. I am a “goddess” (well demi-goddess while I’m in this human form) of Peace and Freedom. It is my duty to be omnipotent and spread peace and tranquility plus freedom to those who deserve it. I can’t do anything as hugely benevolent whilst trapped in this human form. For each day I’m stuck in this body people are dying unnecassarily. I can’t bring complete world peace as humans will always have willpower but I can be like a mild sedative for them so they slow down a bit. The world is going into meltdown and won’t last much longer without my input. To leave the body I must kill it. Ideally in the most peaceful way possible. But before I can do that, I need to remove the implant in my chest and destroy it so it doesn’t get into the wrong hands. I’ve asked doctors and nurses to help remove it but they don’t believe it’s real so won’t help. I’m not even allowed an x-ray. I’ve tried to cut it out myself…it hurts. I didn’t get deep enough to find it. It’s in deeper than I thought. I need some painkillers, preferably a local anaesthetic or plenty of alcohol. I may be a (demi) goddess of peace and freedom, but whilst I’m in this human body, I still feel all its emotions and sensations-including pain. Once I know that the implant is safely destroyed without any repercussions, I can move on phase 2- killing the body.
It is because of this they have locked me up on a Section 3 of the Mental Health Act on a psychiatric ward. They can’t accept who I am or what I need to do. I’m not saying it would be easy for me. In order to be a goddess of peace I had to learn to love and empathise with my fellow human being, hence why I have lived as a human all these 31.5 years. I have learned to love, too much perhaps. I love my partner (and our fur babies-guinea pigs and rabbits) and my human family and friends. I love them so much I don’t want to hurt them, but I was created for a specific reason. It is my duty to leave this body and bring peace to everyone…including my loved ones.
Until I am able to carry out my duty, I have discovered that purple is a shield. As yellow’s opposite it protects me from them and it stops them from being able to access the implant and use it. Whilst I wear purple over my chest like armour, they can’t get to me or manipulate those around me. However, they have sent in a “spy” patient. She doesn’t wear yellow, she’s undercover. But in less than 2 days she has brought my human emotions to breaking point. She is very good at her job. She is like a tempest, creating chaos in her wake, I have therefore nicknamed the Tempest. She doesn’t need the implant, she can get into my mind directly, so now I must wear a purple headscarf or hat so she can’t get in anymore. I can wear purple until the time comes when the implant MUST come out.

My CPN (Community Psychiatric Nurse) appointment left me in tears today. I was talking about 10 year old Martha, a little girl I promised to protect and love. Problem is she wasn’t real! I “met” Martha when I was in hospital in October. My mind created a “lost spirit” but she felt alive and was real to me. She still feels real. How do you grieve the loss of someone who was never really there? Someone who wasn’t real? How do you explain to others that loss? I know she wasn’t real but my memory of her and
feelings that she evokes are as real as any other memory.

So much has happened and changed since I started keeping this blog. That includes my understanding and acceptance of myself and my illness.

In October I was admitted into a psychiatric hospital having a psychotic and manic episode. I was discharged after a week and a medication change. A few days later I was readmitted to hospital after expressing suicidal intentions and still psychotic. Again I was discharged after about a week. A few days after that in a psychotic state I took a massive medication overdose and was on a medical ward for a couple of days before being readmitted, again, to a psychiatric ward. This time, in and out of hospital, meant I missed a lot of university time and had to be signed off sick. I have been told I can return and restart my 2nd year in September 2014, if and when I’m well. As time goes on, I lose hope that I will ever be well enough to return to university. My dream of being a nurse is creeping further and further away from me.


I am depressed. There is no 2 ways about it. I am utterly and completely depressed. Doctors would class it as a severe depressive episode. I would class it as a never-ending darkness that consumes everything and is sucking my very soul out of my body. I feel hopelessness, despair and desperation. But tomato/tomato.

A few months ago I was so elated and psychotic I was hospitalized. Whilst in hospital they stopped the medication I had been on for almost 3 years (at various doses) completely and put me on new medication (Depakote). The medication was supposed to bring me down to a normal mood/energy level and stabilize my levels-stop me swinging from severe depression to mania/extreme elation. At the same time, I needed medication to help control the psychotic symptoms I was experiencing. To some extent the medication (Quetiapine) worked. It brought me out of mania. Initially, I entered what is known as a mixed state, where I had the energy of mania with the mood of depression. I became so unwell, I attempted to kill myself. Clearly I failed, but I was not far off. 

Eventually my mood/energy levels stabilized. However they  have stabilized on the lower side of “normal”. I have therefore been depressed since Christmas with the very occasional hint of getting better. Herein lies my problem.I cannot get well and stay well. The medication I’m on may well be stabilizing my mood/energy levels but not to a livable level. Maybe I would be worse without them but I doubt it. I actually crave the mania. Anything to lift me out of this depression. The odd day I feel well, I think “Perhaps this time I’ll stay well.” But it never happens. If I’m lucky, a few days pass, then my mood crashes again. I am losing hope that I will ever get well and stay well. I’m filling with despair and desperation. Each time the depression kicks me down again I get a bit lower and now I am at the point where I’m questioning whether it’s worth the fight to keep going. Let’s clarify here- I am NOT suicidal. Not yet at least. But I am at the stage where when I go to bed at night, I hope I don’t wake up. I’m struggling with urges to self harm as well which are old coping mechanisms. These partner up with my self-esteem and body image.

For years,I hated my body. I was bullied at school for my big nose and I hate seeing pictures of myself from the side, but I had come to accept it. I hate my breasts, as I know many women do, because they don’t match the perfect image we see in the media everyday. But again, I had come to accept them, albeit with buying very specific style bras etc. The other thing I’ve always struggled with was my weight. I’ve often been medically overweight but I enjoyed food too much to care. I’ve done diets and healthy eating over the years but I always ended up back at the same weight. I came to accept that maybe that was the weight I was supposed to be. I was happy in my body and my mental health seemed to be manageable. 

As my mental health has deteriorated over the last year, so has my body image and its related self-esteem. One of the downsides to my medication is it can cause weight gain. I’m not sure how it works but significant weight gain is a huge problem. I know for me it doesn’t help that it makes me hungry ALL the time. I get obsessive thoughts about food and crave foods. Cravings that keep me awake at night. Until recently I was able to keep the problem in check and learned to ignore the hunger pains and cravings. But in the last 3 months I still managed to put on 6kg.

A couple of weeks ago, I was preparing to meet up for a girls night in the pub. I went to put on my “going-out” jeans and I couldn’t get into them. With a giant slap in the proverbial face, I realised how bad my weight gain must be. I looked in the mirror and burst into tears. I was no longer overweight and comfortable. I was an obese/fat hideous walrus of a person.I weighed myself and confirmed I was now medically obese. The next evening my partner and I were at the pub (I only drink diet coke/Pepsi) and he took a picture of me from the side and posted it on Facebook. I was horrified. Loads of people “liked” the picture but all I saw was my huge, fat arms and my giant nose. 

I had to start dieting immediaitely. Suddenly all food became evil. I need to eat less than normal people would need to lose weight because of the medication. I want to exercise, but I have no energy or motivation, again thanks to the medication. I hope if I lose some weight by dieting first, maybe the energy for exercise will come when I’m lugging less weight around. I am hungry all the time and think about it the majority of the time. I dread eating and can’t help think that every mouthful is going to add to my weight not help me lose it. I feel guilty for even eating, especially if I actually enjoy the taste of it. I am on a medication which doesn’t seem to help my moods or energy and it makes me fat at the same time.

So here I am, depressed, fat and feeling like my dreams and hopes are slipping away from me. I can’t help wondering why I’m bothering to keep fighting. I’m hoping my psychiatrist changes my medication. Something needs to change because I can’t carry on with the life I’m currently existing.


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