Since writing my last blog post I have begun to think about the roots of shame; the cunning tendrils of guilt that invade the mind and poison the fabric of one’s being. At least that is how it has felt like for me. Even if it is something that I have let poison me, is there an antidote? And am I worthy of this antidote?

How has it happened that I have this deep shame about my illness and my actions? I answer this question with a simple answer: flawed. Something inside me isn’t quite right and it makes me do and say things that betray this fault, this flaw. By extension I am justified in continually reassessing the actions of my past and re-experiencing them with renewed shame and exaggerated blame. I oscillate also between by who and what has happened and who and what other should take responsibility. I then chastise myself for considering that I alone could not be responsible. And I begin to make lists of all the things I believe I have done wrong.

I try to rationalise the items or events on the list: am I to blame for these things? Tick for ‘Yes’, cross for ‘No’. Can I blame being ill and in crisis for any of these things? My pen hovers over the paper miming a ‘No’, but it always draws a tick. I am to blame for my illness and my actions should stay with me to remind me that I am broken and can never be rearranged into something functional. Being bipolar is my fault, my shame. I have allowed it to ruin and damage many things in my life.

Example: whilst ill and first diagnosed in 2005 I hid this from my personal tutor and supervisor and my friends had to shoulder a lot of the care for my deteriorating condition. My family was also put under intolerable stress and anxiety. When I eventually spoke with the personal tutor about my illness I was too far gone for the university to cope with and I had to leave what had been a very promising postgraduate experience and what I hoped would become a positive post-doctoral career. All that time and energy I had put in had melted into the air. As did all but a couple of friends. I’ll always be Bipolar Emma to them now.

Consequence: Everything I had worked for was obliterated, academia and friendships. I should have learned from this experience when I upended a subsequent attempt at conducting an academic career alongside a full-time school teaching load.

Verdict: I am to blame for losing my academic career and for losing my friends.

Example: refusing to acknowledge the fact that I was hypomanic, I applied for a position that I would not be able to fulfill to the best of my abilities, although it might have seemed that way at the time. This subsequently put pressure on almost everyone I worked with. I did not know who or how to ask for help and I therefore got all the wrong help. When I was forced (although it might have appeared voluntary) to go off sick after descending into extreme confusion and terrifying mania, I left a complete mess behind. Upon returning, I realized that witnessing a bipolar breakdown great affects people’s perception of you and trust cannot be repaired, on both sides. I cannot think of anything more unpleasant than being Bipolar Teacher to everyone, including oneself.

Consequence: it is intolerable to work in any institution that has seen you at your worst; it is intolerable to feel like you are a liability and untrustworthy as a result.

Verdict: I am not fit for work. I am not fit for purpose. I am to blame for everything that happened to me – even though I know this isn’t completely true. The shame I feel cannot be calculated or described.

Sparing someone shame: is it possible?

If you know that something is going wrong, the seeds of shame have already been sown and it is very difficult to navigate the minefield of reasons and examples that justify your shame. Shame is illogical. Shame lies. Shame is like being trapped in a soundproofed room, deafening you with its malevolent, impermeable silence. Shame becomes your friend. The relationship it has with you is abusive, but after a while you get used to it as if it’s normal. It is a huge part of who I have become, who I am.Could I have been spared even a minor detail of the shame that I feel? Yes. I know that this planet of shame continues to spin because of decisions I have made as a result of decision and situations out of my control. I want some ‘closure’ for things that I believe require even the smallest admission of responsibility. I would try with all my fibre to spare others of this sickness of shame. But I cannot spare myself: I am the deity of my own world and I am as cruel and indiscriminate as any of the ancient Gods.

Can Bipolar Emma forgive herself for the things she has done whilst in crisis? No. Bipolar Emma is Emma. Emma: the Destroyer of Worlds.