My teenage years and early twenties were generally pretty dark times in my life. I swung wildly between manic ups where I would spend money I didn’t have, accumulate debt, have lots of utterly vacuous and meaningless relationships with nice people who didn’t deserve the indifference of my mania, embark on wild schemes and self-medicate and very deep downs where the word ‘bleak’ was an understatement and I would ignore the world almost totally, literally unable to function and sometimes, most frighteningly, speak.

Looking back on those times now is painful. It takes an effort to think about them, never mind write about them and for now, that pretty vague paragraph is about the best I can manage.

However, where I am right now – and have been for over a decade – is much better. I am not ‘cured’. I still have to be careful. I have to watch my moods. I have to be realistic. There are three things that help me.

Medication. Its not a cure, its a way of stabilising moods. The actor Richard Dreyfuss talks about his medication in a similar way to how I feel about it – with relief. I am lucky enough to be settled into a particular medication that a) I tolerate pretty well and b) does what it should. I know I am lucky in that respect. Lots of manic depressives are still struggling to find the right medication for them.

My kids. Having children is a gift. If I was ever to believe in a god then I would think that having the three kids I have would be proof that I was in their favour. Each of them has something that reminds me that it is a good idea to be stable. They need me to be there in every way and so any temptation I might ever have to stop taking medication (and sometimes it does get very trying) disappears when I think of them.

My wife. In a fortnights time we will have been married for 10 years. During that period my wife has been like a port in a storm at times. Whenever I have a situation that exacerbates my condition she is there to help me keep grounded. If she thinks my moods are beginning to cycle in that ominous way that heralds the start of a true cycle of mixed state/mania/depression then she makes sure I know about it. She’s there to give me insight into my condition when I lack it. The words ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’ have become trite lines in crap pop songs but they are the least my wife deserves to hear. I owe her a debt of gratitude for literally everything good in my life.