Written by Michelle Biddle
We want to introduce you to Michelle, one of our participants, who is living with Bipolar II Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder. She wanted a space to share her story and demystify her condition, to let people who might be in a similar headspace know that there is always a light at the end of the tunnel.
Readers be aware that this story contains mention of: Suicidal ideation, drug use, self-harm and talk of depression.
Hi, my name’s Michelle. I’m a 47-year-old single woman, and I live with Bipolar 2 Disorder and Borderline Personality Disorder. When people hear my diagnosis, they often have a picture in their head of what they think that means. But living with it is so much more complex than a textbook definition.
Living with Bipolar II means my brain doesn’t just have highs and lows, it has everything in between. I don’t get the full-blown mania of Bipolar I; instead, I get hypomania, a sustained, intense state that feels like my mind is running at a hundred miles an hour. It’s not a euphoric state but rather a more frantic, irritable energy that makes me feel invincible, which can lead to reckless spending, decisions that can damage relationships and poor judgment decisions that can leave me with lasting consequences. It never tips into psychosis, but it’s destructive enough on its own.
But episodes of hypomania aren’t as common as the other side of the coin, which is the crushing depressive episodes. For me, and many with BP-II, the depression is more frequent, more intense, and hangs around much longer than the hypomania. The periods of stable “well-being” are shorter, and the cycling between states is relentless. It’s more chronic and exhausting than people realise, and it carries a terrifyingly high risk of suicidal thoughts. It’s a myth that Bipolar II is a “milder” form of the disorder; it’s just a different kind of severe and an equally heavy burden to carry.
Then there’s the Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). If Bipolar is about the intense moods, BPD is about the fierce reactions to the world around me. My life can be subconsciously governed by a paralysing fear of abandonment, which can trigger intense emotional outbursts or lead me to self-harm and other risky behaviours.
It manifests as a pervasive, hollow sense of emptiness and a distorted sense of who I am. It’s the feeling of being completely detached from reality during extreme stress. It’s why relationships, including those with Support Workers, can be incredibly complex. The urge to become attached, to place impossibly high expectations on someone who shows me kindness, is overwhelming. It’s a battle within myself to find a healthy balance and not let my disorders define my interactions.
Understanding these conditions isn’t about labels; it’s about context for my life. If you would like to learn more about BP-II and BPD, check out:
Currently, I live in a lovely rental house in a nice neighbourhood in Brisbane. I’ve just started a great job, have some savings in the bank, and I am what the doctors call ‘stable’. But it hasn’t always been that way.
It was only 4 years ago that I was self-medicating every day, not working, in debt, socially isolated and most days unable to get out of bed.
After years of living this way and trying unsuccessfully to break the cycle, I was ready to give up. I had applied for the NDIS and been rejected. I was also unsuccessful in a 2-year Administrative Review Tribunal (ART) battle where I eventually gave up because I couldn’t handle the lies and fabrications the lawyers kept making about me. At one stage, they said they didn’t even believe I was bipolar. They claimed that I couldn’t prove it because the initial doctor who first diagnosed me and referred me to a psychiatrist when I was 25 had died in a hit and run accident. It didn’t matter that I had multiple reports from my allied health team.
I begged the Prince Charles public mental health ward to help me because I couldn’t afford a psychiatrist, but they said I didn’t qualify for assistance because I wasn’t classed as acute.
I had no support, no friends, no job and was close to being evicted for not paying my rent. I wondered every day what the point of going on was.
But back then, I had my four fur babies, and I couldn’t leave them alone.
I decided to fight and turn my life into something meaningful.
All my life, I had worked in freight forwarding, importing and exporting goods around the world. It was a horrible industry to work in, which is probably why I ended up on the disability pension. So, I tried Support work.
I stopped self-medicating and after a lot of research and reflection changed my Bipolar medication.
I was thrown in the deep end with the Support Work. I was untrained and nervous, but I found in extremely rewarding and decided this is the industry for me.
I was successful in a Total and permanent disability claim that was ridiculously stressful but gave me enough money to pay off my debts and start clean.
This all sounds good, and don’t get me wrong, it was, but every day was still a battle, and I still had no support. So, I thought, “What the hell, I’m going to try for the NDIS again.”
This time, I received an answer within three weeks, stating that I had been accepted. I was relieved and thought that everything would now be better. However, it wasn’t. My funding wasn’t even enough for me to see a psychologist once a month let alone see anyone else. I didn’t really know what else I could use my funding for. I decided to take them to AAT and get myself a Support Coordinator.
Six Support Coordinators later, by chance, I met Rebecca Cain.
She was like a breath of fresh air. Honest, down-to-earth and didn’t judge me or treat me differently because I had a mental illness. A genuine person who was prepared to go to battle with me against the NDIA and support me with all aspects of my life. Extremely smart, Bec helped me find ways to get my funding to work for me. She supported me through the ART process and celebrated with me when they offered me everything I was asking for and therefore did not need to go to court. She has been my rock through the dramas that are my everyday life. It’s like a bad episode of Neighbours, I swear.
But it hasn’t been all smooth sailing. When you finally have someone to rely on and also have BPD, you tend to get attached and have high expectations.
When I realised yes, Bec has helped me change my life, but she’s also human, has her own life and her own dramas, that’s when my genuine appreciation for Bec shone.
Unlike many participants, I’m capable and can make my own decisions, but it wasn’t until I found a great Support Coordinator in Rebecca Cain that my NDIS journey changed for the better. Finally, it became a support network, not just another battle.
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