CHILDHOOD: Tough upbringing with a lot of physical medical issues which carried on until my teens.

TEENS: Looking back, it was about here that things weren't quite right. I'd work through the nights on some truly out there stuff. I was angry a lot of the time. At 17 I started self-medicating with weed and alcohol as much as I could to keep myself functioning somewhat. At 18 I just upped and left my hometown, no money, no family, nothing. I lived in a strange city and I honestly don't remember much of it. I don't even know why. Someone I was close to died in a car accident.

At 19, I was again offered treatment which I again refused.

EARLY 20s: Offered treatment for depression. Refused. Racked up huge debts by buying **** I didn't need. Two suicide attempts.

23: After a six month depression, I was prodded into seeking help. I had lost a huge amount of weight, I wasn't eating and spent all day sleeping... I was so ill. Still refused. Quit my job, split all ties with family again. Self medicated my way through most of that year. Got in trouble with the police.

24: Placed on sertraline for anxiety problems. Oh boy. Resulted in my first (and only I hope) hospitalization as it sent me stratospheric. I really did lose grip on reality. Psychiatrist first suspects bipolar disorder at this point. I refuse to accept the diagnosis and treatment and get discharged a little later down the line due to being non-compliant.

28: After years of ups and downs and self medicating in a few of them places, something had to give. Dragged to hospital by family kicking, screaming and near manic. Assessed by another psychiatrist who officially diagnosed me with bipolar type 2 based off my past observed behavior and family history of MI.

And now I'm here on medication. I'm still unwell, but I feel like I'm reaching a turning point. I hope so, I really do.