I was the Devil

SIR: Like Benedict King (‘Right royal madness’, March issue), I was over 50 when I was diagnosed as bipolar.

The problem was that I thought I was the Devil. I was convinced of this when I was suddenly acutely aware that I had spent over £10,000 in one weekend on original paintings. This big spending is symptomatic of a bipolar high. (Relevantly, perhaps, three of the paintings were abstracts of Dante’s Divine Comedy.)

I was with my partner when awareness of my profligacy struck.

I nearly shrieked, ‘I’ve damned us all. I’ve damned God. Because of me, we’re all going to burn for ever.’ ‘Don’t be so silly!’ he replied. But I believed it. I couldn’t escape what I had done even though I crouched under the stairwell. I was utterly terrified.

The next morning, my partner rang the local psychiatric hospital. They knew me of old and admitted me. Soon a kind-looking woman ushered me into a consulting room. ‘What is the problem, Susan?’ ‘I am the Devil.’ Everything else would be implied by this admission. I hadn’t the strength for eternal damnation and spirituality through beautiful paintings. ‘No you’re not. But you are a little unwell. Soon medication will make you see things very differently.’

It was then that I totally despaired. She saw this as an illness, not a catastrophe of cosmic proportions. But she was right, of course. With loving care and antipsychotic drugs, the conviction slowly died in me. These days, I live the life of the free in spirit again. Sue Tyson, Bramhall, Stockport