The Unexpected Benefits of Mental Health Medication

Taking medication improved more than just my moods. In this blog, I reflect on the surprising side benefits I never expected.

It is good to reflect on the importance of mental health—regardless of gender or age—and the crucial role medication can play.

One of the unexpected personal discoveries I've made over the years is the range of side benefits that come with taking medication for bipolar disorder and depression. Yes, my brain works better, my mind is clearer, and thinking requires far less effort. But other symptoms, ones I’d grown used to, have also faded away.

One was something I used to call “my brain falling off a cliff”. It felt like that moment when you fall asleep sitting up on a train—your head drops forward, then suddenly jerks back. Except for me, this same jolt happened inside my brain while I was fully awake. It could strike when I was sitting, standing, even walking. It came in waves, lasting days or even weeks, and nothing I did could stop it.

Years later, I heard others with bipolar disorder describe a similar feeling—like electric shocks in the brain. I suspect we were describing the same thing. I’d had that sensation since my teens, but in recent years, it’s faded. And now, it’s gone.

Another symptom resurfaced briefly a couple of weeks ago. I’d forgotten about it—until it returned for a few days. It’s that experience of waking up with a low-level but all-encompassing fear and anxiety, in both brain and body. It’s not as intense as some panic attacks I’ve had, but still disconcerting.

The thoughts that accompany it are always the same: “I’m not enough. I haven’t achieved enough. Nothing I do will make a difference.”

This time, I took a different approach. I didn’t try to fight it or solve it. I just focused on what I could do. I sat down for breakfast and paid attention to the taste of the food. Washing my face became a moment of awareness—feeling the warmth of the water and the texture of the towel. Walking to the coffee shop, I noticed the motion of my feet in my shoes. I followed the priority list I’d made the night before. And at some point, I realised the fear had gone. It lasted three days and hasn’t returned. Will this approach work every time? I honestly don’t know.

But what I do know is this: when your brain and body work without effort, it’s not a given. It’s a blessing.

Understanding Depression vs Bipolar Disorder: My Personal Experience

Drawing on my lived experience, this blog explores how depression and bipolar disorder lows feel very different—and why recognising the difference matters.

People sometimes ask me what it feels like to be depressed—or to have a bipolar crash.

As a young boy, I had no idea what was going on. I just knew I was different. Seeing a doctor never occurred to me, and later on when it did, I saw it as a sign of weakness. I didn’t surrender until my late 30s and early 40s, when I was finally diagnosed with depression and bipolar disorder.

In my 20s, I worked on a cattle station in Australia. They told me you can often spot a sick animal because it isolates itself. That’s exactly how I felt when my mental health dips—I wanted to be on my own.

The impact of my depression and bipolar are very different.

With depression, mornings are the worst. I wake up and it feels like a heavy, energy-sapping grey mist has settled in my brain. Everything is bleak. My mind tells me it’ll never end. Getting out of bed feels like an enormous task—and what's the point anyway, when nothing’s going to change? If someone walked in and told me my time was up, I’d say, “fine.” These episodes can last for 3 to 5 days—or go on, on and off, for months.

Bipolar disorder has a different signature—especially before I went on medication. Back then, my mind was full of noise and interference, with sudden jolts that felt like my brain was falling off a cliff. My inner voice screamed how useless I was. I used to imagine the only way to stop it would be to smash my head through a plate glass window and grind my brain into the shards.

That went on, intermittently, for 20 years. All the while, I worked full time as a police officer, renovated properties, spent time learning two Chinese languages, and completed a master’s in international finance and trade and started a new business as an entrepreneur.

Since starting medication, the constant interference has stopped. But I still have a major crash about once or twice a year. It’s like being on the Mongolian steppes, seeing a sandstorm in the distance, realising I’ve been here before—and there’s no escape. Within moments, it engulfs me. My brain stops working. It’s terrifying and can last 4 to 6 weeks.

Lockdown taught me something else: there’s a difference between having a bipolar disorder low, being ‘depressed,’ ‘stressed’, having a panic attack, feeling down after bad news, or experiencing SAD. Learning to tell them all apart is very helpful.

The good news?

For the past 20 years, since getting proper help, I’ve had long stretches where I feel normal. Sometimes, walking down the street, I marvel at how quiet my mind is—no noise, no pressure, just peace. What a privilege it is to feel this way.