Surfing the tide of a wild mind

I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at 21. I didn’t think that would ever be something I’d announce publicly. In fact, when it happened, I distinctly remember feeling like it was a death sentence.

Bipolar disorder, no matter what form it takes, is no picnic. It’s tricky to pick up, a real minefield to treat and often difficult to extricate from someone’s personality. Mine began to manifest itself during high school and flew under the radar for so long largely due to my generally gregarious and over-talkative nature. But by my first year at University, it was clear something was very wrong.

“I slept for a total of about two hours, behaved incredibly recklessly and was almost entirely out of control. It’s still quite amazing I didn’t end up in jail.”

I went through least three prolonged periods of depressive shutdown, which would eventually cost me my law degree, not to mention entire weeks where I slept for a total of about two hours, behaved incredibly recklessly and was almost entirely out of control. It’s still quite amazing I didn’t end up in jail.

Various doctors prescribed me every drug in the alphabet, none of which worked for long. Some were such heavy tranquilisers I became a bloated, shuffling zombie, others messed with my now-fragile chemical balance and inadvertently tipped me over the edge. The Mental Health Crisis team were called to my house on more than one occasion to stop me doing something dangerous, like jumping off the balcony or setting fire to our place because I had taken to smoking inside at all hours of the night. It was a ride nobody would let me get off.

When I was formally handed my diagnosis, I cried for so long outside the psychiatrist’s office that my Dad literally had to carry me back to the car. I thought I would never get a fulltime job, find success, get married or be happy. It was very clear to me that this was not something I would ever tell an employer or partner.

A number of years later, I met Grant Trebilco, who also has bipolar and founded OneWave. He made me feel differently. Grant, to use his parlance, is a ‘weapon’. He has been busting down stigmas around mental health long before it became something trendy that brands co-opted to sell yoga pants. And in the surf community no less, notorious for being closed-off, aggressive and insular.

Grant and I have very different backgrounds, but it turned out we also have a lot in common. We have worked together informally for years, but I always wanted to find a way to step it up and help OneWave grow even larger.

I’ve always had a lot of energy, especially when it comes to working on pro bono projects I’m passionate about. A few years ago, that culminated in a music festival in support of the gay marriage vote, but if I think about it realistically, it’s been happening forever. It’s where the manic part of my disorder comes in handy;

“I can push harder and fight longer for something if I believe in it. I will work all night and day, take on multiple roles and never give up. It took me a long time to realise that, when harnessed correctly, this was a gift.”

Grant has also learned this about himself. He has gone from grassroots activist to media personality and global community organiser in only a few years. He and I caught up for coffee when I was back in Sydney. As we looked for new ideas for OneWave, I explained that a big barrier for first time or learner surfers (like I was, at 25) is the cost and accessibility of boards. Even a terrible foamie is $300+, and that skyrockets the better you get. It means that many people who could benefit from the salt-water therapy that OneWave offers may get cold feet.