Looking at photos from this time, I wince. I feel sad for the young woman who thought she had it all figured out. We’re not educated to spot mania, and it isn’t talked about as widely as other conditions. With depression, by and large, we’re familiar with the signs. Sudden, inexplicable and problematic happiness and energy? Being full of positivity and ideas for my future? Surely that could only be a good thing.

Soon, my thoughts started to feel out of my control and my good mood took a sinister turn. I didn’t sleep much all week. By the third night, I was on the floor of our hotel room, crying in the foetal position. I read a magazine and became convinced I had a photographic memory. I texted obscure messages to my friends.

Once home, I began to lose track of time, struggling to complete basic tasks such as showering or putting shoes on. I lay in bed convinced my mind was lost forever, envisioning snake-like vines creeping into my brain. I felt sad for the woman I had lost, the person I used to be. I spoke of a large spider on my face; I’m still not sure what I meant.

I stopped sleeping entirely, worried that I wouldn’t wake up, or if I did, I’d find I had no thoughts or identity. I needed to remain vigilant. I went into my mother’s bedroom early one morning and held her tightly, something I hadn’t done since childhood.

“I thought my mania was just a good mood, then I ended up on a mental health ward”