I decided a couple of months ago that I wanted to come off my medication for a multitude of reasons - ranging from the need for freedom and wanting to leave all reliance on medicine behind. At first I went the wrong way about it by just suddenly cutting down all my medications to 0mg in one night. That went badly.

So, with a large supply of lower dosages of all my medications I decided to gradually decrease my dosage over the course of two weeks - starting at 50mg and then 25mg at a time. I suffer from some horrible Quetiapine withdrawal symptoms, so I had to take painkillers for the last few days to curb the painful headaches.

It's been five to six weeks since I finished my last dosage of all medications I was on and I've not really felt too much of a difference, except I have a much better ability to wake up early in the morning. I was expecting my personality to come bursting back through and to be able to once again develop the intimacy I once had with my own identity and self worth. That hasn't happened as of yet and I'm still struggling to become the person I once was.

My mood has, at times, dropped to be quite low since the cessation of the psychiatric medications I've been on since I was 14. This is only a sporadic and brief occurrence, however. Other than that I feel fine in myself and the bonus of being able to wake up early in the mornings will be even more of an advantage of a medication-free life once I'm able to find a job fit for my needs.

I didn't discuss coming off my medication with my psychiatrist until after I'd already been living without it for a month. I've recently spoken with her about it and although she was worried at first, after a long conversation about how I've been coping she warmed to the idea. She even said that she hates prescribing medication because of the way it affects people - sometimes it can have the opposite effect to that which patients wish for.

What surprised us both came when she asked the inevitable question: "How about suicidal thoughts? Any improvement?" I explained I still have fleeting moments of contemplation but that I don't want to die, I fear death and I WANT to live. Wait, what? For the first time in six years I WANT to live? I FEAR death? For once, the miserable psychiatrist I'd struggled to form a bond with since I met her developed small wrinkles around her eyes and a huge grin. "I've never once heard you say anything along those lines" she said, with glee more than that of what I myself felt saying it.

That's not all. I was also told that she thinks I'm in the position where I'm able to drive and that she would no longer have any qualms about me having a driving license, and that I would certainly not be denied one again like I have been in the past. Progress? Yes. Progress.

What now? I'm not sure. I have a lot of things to sort out. It's not going to be easy. There are many pieces of my life to recover. Being at the age of 20, I have the added inconvenience of having to make life choices such as which career path to follow. I'm studying from home at the moment and in the process of being referred to a service dedicated to getting people with "severe disabilities" back into work.

Of course, Bipolar never just goes away. There's always the risk of a relapse. For now however, I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.

Thank you everyone for your support, compassion and understanding.