A Life Like Alice in Wonderland

For as long as I can remember I've had a huge amount of love for Alice in Wonderland. Not just because of Alice's brave and curious nature, the pure escapism and the sheer magical frivolity of it all, but because of the fact she was invented in the halls, tunnels and rooms of Kings College, Oxford - a place I hold dear in my heart due to its infinite beauty and the fact I was born down the road in The John Radcliffe hospital.

In more recent years I have grown even fonder of the story and the outrageous characters as I feel I can identify somewhat with it and them.

It was whilst visiting a magical garden and maze this weekend with some friends that I was reminded of the spellbinding story of my childhood friend Alice. Thinking of her made me realise just how like her adventures my life had been. It felt good to compare my life to such an enchanting book rather than to rage about my life being ruined by this godforsaken illness.

My Bipolar Disorder is Alice's Wonderland.

Its a vortex, an alternate universe, a mad world where everything and nothing is possible all at once. Depression is a free fall down a dark rabbit hole that feels as though it will never end. Mania is the suspension of reality where nothing can go wrong, or be wrong; its a dream-like state without perspective, rationale or control. As in Alice's Wonderland, staying there too long is like following the pink and purple cat with a vanishing smile into a forest at night - confusing and potentially dangerous.

When it comes to my Bipolar Disorder, I am extremely high-functioning, well-supported and my care team's star patient for veracious self-awareness. I am compliant with medication, mostly strategic about life choices and, for the most part, kind to myself when I need to be - so it would be difficult for people to understand my familiarity with Wonderland.

Although I do at times find it all very frustrating, to my mind there is something uniquely fascinating about the idea of thrashing around between the extremes of human emotion. Some people do want to know about it; whats is it like; they're incredulous when they realise it is actually possible for me to function as a normal human being (for most of the time).

Yes, I've come up with some great ideas during manic episodes and I do miss the euphoria, but for long stretches its just been torture and a fear and sadness so numbing its like I don't get to participate in my own life.

I have to believe that ultimately we are who we choose to be. Nobody is going to come and save us, we have to save ourselves. We have to find our own safe passage through Wonderland and rabbit holes. Even though I find this hard to accept myself sometimes, if we're doing the best that we can with what we have, if we're evolving, fighting, pushing and still full of fire and feeling, well we must be proud of that. We could have turned back a long time ago, given up, sat by the sidewalk and watched our life stumble on by - but we didn't, and we mustn't. So this I say to myself - I will breathe, I will think of solutions, I will not let my worries control me, I will not let stress levels break me; and I will be OK, because I don't quit. I feel pretty certain that the rough roads and torrential weather will be worthwhile, especially if it means I get to have tea with The Mad Hatter every now and then!