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.