Looking back, everything started falling apart after my father died. I was miles away when I got the call that he’d had a stroke and was in intensive care. I raced to the hospital, hoping I’d get there in time to say goodbye, but I was too late.

It hit me hard. I was already overweight but I just hid away and kept eating. The only time I went out was when my best friend organised it: she’d always organised me. Then she suddenly left her partner. She began to make changes in her life, positive changes like studying for a degree, and I felt left out. More than that I felt angry. How could she move on with her life and leave me behind? One day we were on the bus together after a shopping trip and another friend asked her how her dancing was going. I confronted her. ‘Dancing? You’re going dancing? Without me?’

She said that she was, and that it was something she needed to do for herself. I blew up at her on the bus in front of everyone. I began screaming and everyone looked at me. I couldn’t control myself and burst into tears and I remember I cried so hard my face was burning. I got off the bus and walked off. I was supposed to see her four days later but I didn’t turn up. Instead I sent her an email saying I was moving to another part of the country.

At work everything was getting to me. I felt irritable and impatient with everyone. The clients were all idiots and my workmates were annoying – I just couldn’t be bothered with their stupid problems. People stopped inviting me out to lunch, which made things worse. One day HR called me in for a chat about my behaviour. They told me that they wanted to help, but I swore at them, stood up and walked out. I went home and sent an email resigning.

I was in a real state – pacing around the flat and just so angry. I called my friend again and told her that I’d quit my job. We talked for a while. I kept asking her if she’d met someone, and eventually she admitted that she had met someone at dancing class. I was devastated – I felt like I wanted to stick needles in myself. She didn’t understand why I was so upset. ‘It’s alright for you,’ I told her. ‘You’re getting on with your life.’

My friend kept telling me that I could get on with my life, too – that if she could do it, I could do it. She insisted on taking me to a doctor. I agreed. When we got there I unleashed a torrent of abuse at her and the receptionist so they refused to see me.

That night I went home to my flat, drank half a bottle of vodka and took a handful of headache tablets. I rang her and left a message saying I’d taken pills and it was all her fault. She must have called an ambulance because the next thing I knew, I was in hospital.

I was kept there, under sedation, for a few days. The doctors told me later that they had to sedate me as I was screaming and shouting at everyone.

I found out that I had major depression and that I was also bipolar. I’m on medication now and I’m just taking it slowly. I’m just so grateful that my friend didn’t give up on me. It’s a slow process, but I think I’m learning how to love myself again.