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5 Things You Should Know About My Boyfriend I Am His Queen Shirt, hoodie, tank top
Almost immediately, I knew something wasn’t right. After three days of nausea, dissociation and increasingly erratic behaviour, my psychiatrist suggested that I head to A&E. The doctors thought the Mirtazapine might have triggered a manic episode and wanted to investigate the possibility of my being bipolar. I was terrified. I told them that I’d been fine a couple of weeks before; it was just a bad reaction to the pills.
I tried to escape by going away with friends, but after bursting into tears in a strip club and fake-tanning one of my toes with no recollection, I knew I couldn’t look after myself. I ended up fleeing the holiday and flying home to my parents’ house. I asked my father to quit my job for me and was diagnosed with bipolar over Skype.
In the shallow end: ‘the food fad I’d so accurately satirised was dying out. I felt the slow creep toward irrelevance.’ Hair and makeup: Kay Childs. Photograph: Karl Grant/The Guardian
A week later, my mum came into the bedroom to wake me up. “How do you feel, darling?” “Well,” I answered, “I’m 28, I’m unemployed, I live with my parents and I’ve had a nervous breakdown.”
And then I shat myself. I’d decided to treat myself to a whole antipsychotic to mark my birthday, and my poor stomach couldn’t take it. Once I’d recovered, I called my sister. I was laughing so hard she thought I was crying. When I told her what had happened, she erupted in giggles. Mum rolled her eyes. “Only my child could shit herself and be the happiest she’s been in weeks.”
Yet none of this made me want to change my social media strategy. As far as I was concerned, Instagram followers were my ticket to fame and fortune. Surely, if I reached a certain number of followers, that would stop me feeling sad. Loads of people had started doing ads on Instagram and, while I wasn’t about to promote charcoal toothpaste or flat-tummy tea, I thought I’d found a pretty good niche. I obligingly shook a tin of frankfurters to advertise the film Sausage Party and launched “the beef lips challenge” to see which of my followers could hold a Peperami between their nose and top lip the longest. The line between my character and what she was supposed to be parodying became blurred further.