My life at secondary school was fragmented. I missed huge chunks of my education, drifting in and out of classrooms and towns. I loved art, history, and English language — the subjects that let me escape — but I went to five different secondary schools and spent more time truanting than learning. That was one of the reasons I ended up in care. My mum simply couldn’t cope with me anymore.
By then, alcohol had already become part of my life. I was still a teenager, but I drank like someone trying to numb something far older. I’d get drunk, play Space Invaders, Defender, Pac-Man — anything to fill the hours. I’d catch the bus from Braunton to Croyde, then hitchhike home, stumbling in around midnight. I’d throw up violently, then drink milk to settle my stomach. I don’t know if my mum ever realised how much I was drinking. Maybe she did. Maybe she couldn’t face it.
As my friends grew into their late teens, they found new circles, new lives. I loved them with all my heart — we had so many fun times — but I always felt like the odd one out. Like there was something “wrong” with me. Something unlovable.
The irony is that my name literally means lovable. I think my dad chose it. And I know my family loved me, but we were scattered across the world. My nephew once asked me on Facebook why our family was so spread out — Canada, Hong Kong, everywhere. I surprised him by asking if he still had as much tomato sauce as he used to. He did then. I’m not sure about now.
Then came the man I was infatuated with — the first person who truly star‑struck me. I won’t name him, but he stole my heart completely. He’d left the RAF, he was stunningly handsome, and I was devoted to him. I used to skip art college just to go to his house every morning. His family liked me, and for a while, that felt like enough.
I don’t have any photos of him. Just memories. He ended our relationship while my mum was away in Yugoslavia. She had put me into a guest house at the time, and when he finished things, I was heartbroken. I think I was too infatuated, too intense. I didn’t want babies then — I was still a late teenager — I just wanted him. He was 21, not ready to settle down. We met in a local café, and for a moment, he was my whole world.
I dropped out of art college around then, and that was the first time someone told me I had bipolar. People with bipolar often recognise it in others — that’s been my experience, anyway. My care reports mention me coming back from discos “high,” buzzing with an energy I couldn’t control. Years later, I was diagnosed with Rapid Cycling Bipolar, CPTSD, OCD, Social Anxiety, and Double Depression.
Pick a label. There were plenty to choose from.
But underneath all of them was just a girl trying to survive a life that had already asked too much of her.