I grew up in rural Cambridgeshire, near a small town called Ramsey. Ramsey used to be a large town: it is the home of the second oldest Benedictine Abbey in the country – founded in 969 – and saw its heyday in the Middle Ages, when the Abbots of the monastery ruled over all they surveyed – and quite a bit they didn’t.

The town of Ramsey – the “sey” means island - gave its name to the nearby settlements: Ramsey Mereside, Ramsey St. Marys, Ramsey Fortyfoot (referring to the drain that cuts along its length) and Ramsey Heights. I’m going to ask you to guess the altitude of Ramsey Heights. Yes, you’re right: this is Fen country and Ramsey Heights is at sea level! Much of the Fens is below sea level, and the pumping stations are always working to drain the arable land which would become marsh again if that pumping and draining were ever to stop. One day it will, as the land is constantly shrinking and becoming less fertile. Already conservationists have bought up large tracts of it and are returning it to nature.

The Fen is flat. You can see for miles and miles over fields bisected only by the drainage ditches; fields growing wheat, potatoes, sugar beet and these days, maize for biofuel. It’s a productive landscape, but few people would call it beautiful, and many think it’s boring.

The Peak district is very different. Here there are hills and valleys. My husband and I enjoy hiking and the Peak District is much more rewarding than the Fens. Here, sheep graze the green velvet hillsides and laughing rivers run through wooded dells. Every time I’ve been there, it has been a magical experience, whether in sunshine or in rain.

Left to its own devices, my bipolar condition would keep me in the Peak District, except it wouldn’t be anywhere near as much fun. I would risk flying off the hills and then crashing headlong into the valleys to drown in rivers of self-loathing. It’s the drugs that keep me level.

The new medication, however, while more effective than the last, has reduced me to the flattest and lowest part of the Fens. Here, it seems that even the air is thicker, so everything is an effort. The mood stabiliser has stabilised me, but at a level of “mildly depressed.”

For the first time, I can totally understand why some people with bipolar disorder just stop taking their medication. At this point, even the prospect of dealing with my biannual dose of serious depression seems worth it just to stop feeling so flat.

Fortunately, my psychiatrist is not satisfied with where I am and wants to add another medication into the list – this time an antidepressant. We both know it’s an experiment – we just have to try it and see what happens, but it’s better than coping with constant depression, which is no fun for anyone, least of all for my family and friends.

I’d love to know what your experiences have been with mood stabilisers and with antidepressants. Have they worked and how do you feel about taking them? Are any of you taking a cocktail like me? And tell me: do you too rattle when you walk?

Mary

A Moodscope member