Aware - A Personal Story

In the current issue of our email newsletter, Elaine Blake-Knox charted her struggles with depression and bipolar disorder. This was originally written for the Aware magazine, which you can subscribe to in our Online Store.

To share your own 'Aware story', and maybe give hope to someone in a low period, just follow this link.


"My Story"
by Elaine Blake-Knox



I am going to begin this story with the present. Today I have a good quality of life and enjoy living.

I was raised as an only child. As such it was assumed by “grown-ups” that I must be spoiled, which I gathered was something unpleasant and which I resented, not understanding the meaning of the word at the time.

As quite a young child, maybe seven or eight, I remember being glum. At that time I spent school summer holidays with relatives in Kerry. This is where I heard the term “dúchas”, referring to the inheritance of physical attributes. As a result of that, I noticed that my father looked glum at times so I thought that I inherited the “glumness” from him.

I must have been feeling slightly more than glum at a given time during that period as, possibly through information gleaned from the television, I knew that it was possible to end one’s life by gas. This I considered, but I imagine that I may not have appreciated the full implication of being dead then.

Though making friends was not a problem, I remember times of isolation at school. I was very attached to my day school but, due to some family issues, it was thought better that I would go to boarding school for the final two years. Well, if I had problems before, I certainly gained infinitely more by leaving my treasured day school. The loss of my freedom was horrendous. I really missed my friends. Due to arriving at the school mid-term, I stood out from the other students. I was very self-conscious. Silent nightly tears became part of my life along with significant weight loss. I think that would have been a very low time in my life.

After school, it was thought that nursing would be a promising career. England was the place to go. Another wrench. Needless to say the undiagnosed depression travelled with me. While a student nurse there, a visit to the Nurses’ Home Doctor resulted in a script for tranquillizers. Having taken just one I realised that I could not work while taking them. The side effects had not been flagged. These then became my first stash, to use when I could not stick living any longer. The thought that I could end it perversely gave me the courage to persevere.

After five years and with my nursing qualification I returned from England. My first job was in a hospital where I was very unhappy – “chicken or egg”? I was seen by a physician in the hospital, possibly for some physical problem. I can only surmise that I spoke to him about suicide, because a short time later I was called before the then Matron (a kindly person) who, citing my religion, was wondering how I could consider such an action. I realised that we were not on the same wavelength. I also realised that confidentiality had been broken.

The physician had prescribed an antidepressant. This was the first time I took this type of medication. Again, no information about side effects had been given. And once again I quickly shelved them as I would not have been able to work. These anti-depressants were from “the old brigade”. The newer ones presently being prescribed are cleaner, with little or no side effects. The remarkable thing is that during all these periods of un-wellness, I never missed a day at work and had succeeded in buying a home.

Three years later, I succeeded in finding a job for myself in a hospital where I really enjoyed working. Paradoxically I was to become even more ill there and experience the most unwell period of my life. Up until that time I really thought that I was getting and availing of adequate help. I was attending my GP and had a huge range of tests for a multiplicity of symptoms. I also thought my main problem was having lived in the past with alcoholism and was attending both al-anon, from which I got great help, and also seeing an alcoholism counsellor.

Things started to get much worse and a friend had to call my GP to my home because I could neither stand nor sit up. I thought that I had a brain tumour. This GP had previously listened to me for lengthy periods of time and she had also prescribed anti-depressants, which I was taking. I had also discussed suicide with her.

She diagnosed vertigo as my problem and felt that it was “coming from a deep seated anxiety” and that I would need to see a psychiatrist. The relief was enormous. My GP was in contact with my counsellor who was independently witnessing my various moods. He suggested a particular psychiatrist. This was now my thirty-first year and at last the right sort of doctor was going to take me in hand. Well, he had his work cut out for him!

After about six months the definite diagnosis of manic depression or more aptly, bi-polar illness, was reached and medication was prescribed. That same year, the death of a very significant friend happened.

It is said that it can take one trigger for an elation to occur and all others can be “baby” triggers. It took eight months following my friend’s death to trigger an elation that resulted in my first very lengthy hospitalisation. This admission was precipitated by a resolve to take my own life – an act I thought my GP and I were collusive in. I phoned her from work and asked her help to get me out of there. She told me she would send a taxi. This was all very conspiratorial in my mind and illustrates the false thinking one can have when unwell. In fact it was my employer who drove me to hospital.

While in hospital I genuinely thought that I would never return to work. However through the efforts of my psychiatrist and with the support of my employer, who visited me, I eventually did get back. I worked for 18 years in that hospital before it was shut down.

While in hospital I realised it would be prudent to “stick in my own oar” to collaborate with my doctor and let him know what I thought helped and what didn't. And I was heard! That has been how we have worked ever since.

Another major bereavement – the death of a childhood friend – and the closure of my favourite work place followed by transfer to a hospice to work triggered, after a few months, another elation which took seven months to sort out.

Maybe at this point it might be helpful to say that the elation I refer to is an unpleasant elation. Dysphoria is another name for it. Anyway it’s anything but pleasant. Besides feeling sad and unhappy there are very strong feelings of anger directed at nothing or no one in particular or misdirected at everyone and everything for no reason. Agitation, tears for no reason, and irritability also feature. Add to that sleep difficulty – either in getting off to sleep or waking up constantly during the night.

I’ve also experienced being tired and sleepy all the time and being monosyllabic; yet it was elation I was experiencing. So it is important to be as helpful as possible to the doctor as it is not an easy mood to diagnose and correct diagnosis is the key.

Back to my story. After six years working in the hospice – work that was extraordinarily emotionally challenging – I finally took early retirement with my doctor’s blessing. A staunch ally in all the help that I received was Aware, then known as The Mood Disorder Fellowship. On receiving a letter from its founder to come to its inaugural meeting, I invited my GP and another close friend along as well. I could not have anticipated then what it would do, and still does, for me and the reliable friends I have made in it.

As I started, so I’ll finish – back in the present. Retirement for me was a chance to start living. Through trial and error I have come to know my limitations. The collaborative effort of my doctor and myself has managed to fine-tune my medication and this has greatly contributed to my good health. When I’m well I have a great love of life and appreciate the friends that I have. I have parted company with the thought of “life exiting” a long time ago because I cherish what I have now and for however long I have it.

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