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'Look at his wild eyes; he’s mad'.

I distinctly remember my brother and my mother looking at me and saying those words. I must have been around thirteen or fourteen. They were both sitting on the sofa and I was in the middle of the room

I didn’t understand what they meant, I hade a point to make and I was making it but they seemed to be more interested in my behaviour than my message.

I was diagnosed as bi-polar last summer following a final breakdown - although it transpires I have probably had it since my late teens, early twenties. The one thing that surprised me was how my whole life suddenly made sense and everything dropped into place.

It answered so many questions about the person I had been and some of the decisions I had made throughout my life.

When I started my mental health nurse training I didn't expect to be in need of services myself; although I had experienced the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder for a while I had never recognised it as that. I had always played down the domestic violence I experienced so playing down my mental health issues just followed on. Two years after I ended the abusive relationship the flash backs started.

Since I can remember I have been raising my heart rate: climbing trees, jumping from walls, playing immense hours of football on car parks and fields. But the year 2011 saw my heart rate decline. It felt as though it had been extinguished all together.

Dear Mam,

There are not enough words to say how much I want to thank you for not giving up on me. Without you I wouldn’t have recovered from anorexia and instead your last memories of me would be tainted by that horrible illness which turned me into an evil, lying monster.

With a diagnosis of bipolar and borderline personality disorder, I have managed my mental health pretty well over the years, even if I do say so myself. I have stayed employed, volunteered for charity and even found someone to marry me! And the one person who has been there every step of the way is, of course, my mum. Supportive, often humorous and always on my side, my mum Chris is an inspiring woman in so many ways, however one instance springs to mind when I think of how much I still need her, even though I am a grown woman with a home and life of my own now.

The inspiration for my blog is my late grandmother. She was just the perfect mother and grandmother, and if I can give my children half of what she gave me; I will be happy (although I am sure I will have many a moment of self-doubt, self-loathing and guilt along the way).

I've started and re-started this blog entry four times now, getting more and more frustrated each time. Trying to encapsulate the female experience is like trying to pluck the moon out of the night sky - you can hold your hand up to it, but can never actually accomplish the feat.

I met James when I was 21. We were friends for many years before we started a relationship. I believe I had suffered undiagnosed episodes of depression since my early teens. Before meeting James I had a series of bad relationships, choosing the wrong type of guy and throwing myself into the wrong type of relationships. I had been hurt and eventually on the advice from my GP sought counseling.

Let’s start with a simple question: when is the last time you felt good about yourself? No, not the good feeling you get after a glass of wine, or after you’ve done a really good job of something…when is the last time you felt good about who you are? Think about it for just a moment…who are you? No, not your name, not your occupation, and especially not who you used to be…who are you?

The year was 2004. I had not long ago had a breakdown and had been diagnosed with Bipolar II. I was 31 and my world had been turned upside down. I had worked from the age of 9 and by this point I had gone on sick leave from a lousy job that I invested long hours in. Most of my friends and family had turned their backs on me. I hated men after having been in many unhealthy relationships.

I’ve had many conversations about my mental health problems over the years, not always because I intended to. Sometimes the subject comes up in connection with something else. One question I get asked a lot is, ‘So why don’t you drive, then?’

Like my gender, sexuality, occupation, and the colour of my skin, Bipolar Affective Disorder doesn’t define my whole identity, but it is a significant part of it. Though therapy and medication have stabilised my day-to-day moods, my condition remains an intrinsic part of me and of how I experience the world. And I wouldn’t have it any other way – because I am me.

I have always thought that the mental health scene mirrors the movement for Gay Rights in very many ways. 

My name is Sitara. I am 22 and live in the south west of England with some other girls. I love to drink tea, sing, and am currently training to be a teacher. I also have a mental illness. I suffer from anxiety, depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. It’s something that I have found really hard: each day is different and each day is a challenge 

I’m going to write a  series of blogs focusing on the  "taboo" behaviours associated with differing mental health disorders. No matter whether the behavior is public or private it helps to talk. My main aim is to get things out in the open so people do not have to feel alone and experience guilt, shame and self-loathing during or after an episode of being unwell. Make no mistake these behaviours, if left in denial, can destroy lives.

“People, don't you understand,
The child needs a helping hand?
Or he'll grow to be an angry young man someday.
Take a look at you and me,
Are we too blind to see?
Do we simply turn our heads
And look the other way?”

In February 2009, I was sectioned, tranquilised and detained in a secure psychiatric hospital. Fortunately, my stay was short; after seven days, I was given a week’s leave at home, following which I was discharged.

Hello.

My name is Amy. I'm 22 years old. I have red hair. I have a great Family. I love films. I love cake and I have a mental illness.

Mental illness to me is just a small part of who I am. It is no longer something I fight, but something I live with and accept. Mental illness comes with a strong stigma, and people are too quick to judge people just from those two words.

The first form of mental health related stigma I experienced was from my own parents.  

When I was first diagnosed with depression, my parents encouraged me to keep it a secret and made it clear they did not want other friends or family members to find out. This made me feel alone and ashamed of how I felt. 

Selina: “I was diagnosed with depression in 2003 during my final year at university. At the time I was feeling pressure about my options once I graduated and what my life would be like afterwards. During a holiday abroad a family member who is a psychiatrist noticed something was wrong with my behaviour and informed my parents; I became very unwell soon after.

Macdog73 is a supporter of Time to Change who has recently been part of the #befrank movement on Twitter, which, prompted by the Time to Change campaign, has seen hundreds of people open up about their mental health problems.  She talks about how Twitter can be a helpful place to share experiences and find support.

Steady family, good career and no more money worries than most people, but none of this has stopped me falling victim to depression.

Pat struggled with Agoraphobia and addiction for many years, but with the support of her family and GP managed to overcome her issues. Now she writes poetry about her experiences to give hope to others in a similar position - to send out the message that it is possible to recover as she has.

You can read her poems on this page - and she has also written a brief introduction to her work below, talking about what inspired her to write each piece.

Ulrika Jonsson has experienced depression and panic attacks on a few occasions in her life.

“Despite having bright, wonderful children and a house I can call my own, I found myself in some real low points. I didn't want to wake up in the mornings, I found it so hard to cope."

Instead of taking antidepressants she chose to deal with the depression herself.

There have been some reports in the press this past week surrounding Social Networking sites such as Facebook and MySpace, and whether they could have a negative effect on our mental health.

Katie grew up in Devon and carried the same close group of friends with her from school through to adulthood. They were always together, laughing and enjoying themselves.

Then, after she fled an abusive relationship in her early twenties, Katie started to get unwell - she felt paranoid and anxious all the time. "Suddenly a lot my friends just dropped me - just like that," she explains. "It was horrible. They were my life."

But there are friends who have stuck by Katie. "My best friend, she's always calling me, sending me little notes. She's great."