A deeply personal collection of essays exploring Nigerian-American author Bassey Ikpi’s experiences navigating Bipolar II and anxiety throughout the course of her life.

Bassey Ikpi was born in Nigeria in 1976. Four years later, she and her mother joined her father in Stillwater, Oklahoma —a move that would be anxiety ridden for any child, but especially for Bassey. Her early years in America would come to be defined by tension: an assimilation further complicated by bipolar II and anxiety that would go undiagnosed for decades.

By the time she was in her early twenties, Bassey was a spoken word artist and traveling with HBO’s Russell Simmons Def Poetry Jam, channeling her experiences into art. But something wasn’t right—beneath the façade of the confident performer, Bassey’s mental health was in a precipitous decline, culminating in a breakdown that resulted in hospitalization and a diagnosis of Bipolar II.

Determined to learn from her experiences—and share them with others—Bassey became a mental health advocate and has spent the fourteen years since her diagnosis examining the ways mental health is inextricably intertwined with every facet of ourselves and our lives. Viscerally raw and honest, the result is an exploration of the stories we tell ourselves to make sense of who we are—and the ways, as honest as we try to be, each of these stories can also be a lie.

Reviews

Raw, Riveting Read

Dolly Chugh

“I have never read a memoir quite like this. Such powerful prose, almost poetic in how it engaged not just my mind but also my soul. I could not put this down – it just held on to me and I ripped through in two evenings. While I haven’t experienced much of what Bassey Ikpi has, she tells her story in such a raw and riveting way that I felt her journey in my being. I learned so much about mental illness, as she has experienced it, and about myself, in all the ways in which Bassey’s journey speaks to all of our journeys. She is an amazing writer and human being. This book is a gift you owe yourself."

Courage in the face of illness

Brée Nachelle

“I read this book whilst sitting in the tub, at times I found myself sobbing. She provided insights into her life with mental illness with truth, comedy, and bravery. From Africa, to Yoga --Bassey's style of prose majestically suits these vignettes into her life, and it also shows what a memoir should be classy, and camera ready."

Heartbreaking and Hopeful

M.M.

“Beautifully written and original. Could feel the emotion in every word. I couldn't put it down and read through the whole book in a day but each essay is worth reading again & again. It's a lesson in empathy and resilience."

Necessary read

Afoma

“Bassey is unflinchingly honest in this essay collection — nothing is off the table. She discusses her childhood and her experience with multiple dissociative episodes. Central to her book’s title — and disconcerting — is the fact that she has fragmented (and sometimes, false) memories of certain life events. Also in focus is her mental illness and her often difficult relationship with her family. Her writing is also lyrical and utterly engrossing; I read this book in one sitting! When describing hypomanic periods, the writing style is fast-paced, and she renders anxious periods in meandering prose. "I’m Telling the Truth, But I’m Lying" is gritty, heartbreaking, and necessary. I would strongly recommend this book to everyone looking for a well-crafted essay collection."

Necessary reading, hauntingly good writing

“This is an astonishingly well-written memoir of survival, family, and finding one’s way through mental illness. Each essay is crafted beautifully, combining into a narrative that’ll rip you open in the best way."

Blew me the entire fuck away

Akwaeke Emezi

“Look, I've been reading Bassey Ikpi's work for a smooth ten years, thanks to the Internet. She's been a vital voice for so many of us who live with neurodivergence, throughout our darkest moments, whispering for us to allow ourselves morning. She's even mentioned by name in Freshwater! Now, this book of hers, this collection? It blew me the entire fuck away. It's brilliant, intimate, and so vulnerable! Bassey is a storyteller to her bones and it shows. Read this book, tell everyone you know to read this book, because you have no idea how many people out there need these words."

Searing, lyrical piece of work

Shannon Wright

“This is a searing, lyrical piece of work: Bassey Ikpi started her career as a poet, and it shows as she finds music in heartbreaking moments. There are lines that will make you laugh out loud (“I still hate yoga, it’s like a game of Simon Says that no one ever wins”) and descriptions so evocative they make you freeze: a sweater is burgundy, “the color of Anne’s raspberry cordial,” and that one line captures a type of girl that, if you were also one, identifies a kindred spirit. This book is ostensibly about mental health, and it is that: We follow her from the early signs that no one recognized, through the crisis and out to the other side. This is not a trite book about victory over mental illness, excepting the fact that she is still with us; she is clear that every day is a struggle. But to present it as only a book about mental illness is to sell it short. This is a book about the human condition and how hard it is to live in this broken world in these frail bodies. Bassey is the canary in the mine: what we may sense as a one or two on the Richter scale, she registers as a 10. But if you don’t recognize yourself in some of the despair, self-flagellation, euphoria, pride, profound love, and profound self-doubt, then it’s time for some introspection. I love this book and can’t wait to share it with my friends."

Excerpt

This bipolar II. This many-sided creature. This life of mine. This brain constantly in conference with the racing heart, reminding me to slow down, stay calm.

Remember the first time you were ever on a Ferris wheel? Remember when you got to the very top and just sat there, the entire world at your feet? You felt like you could reach up and grab the sky. Your entire body tingled with the intersection of joy and indestructibility and fearlessness and that good anxious recklessness. So damn excited to be alive at that moment. You could do anything.

Now imagine feeling that every day for a week, or a month, or a few months. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, without a break. So that everything you do feels like THE BIGGEST MOST AMAZING THING YOU HAVE EVER DONE IN YOUR LIFE!

The first week or so, it’s great. Until it’s not.

Because then the insomnia sets in. And you’re stacking days on top of one another, adding a new one before the last one ends. And you have to write the entire book tonight before you can sleep or eat or leave the house or do anything. But first you have to call your friends and your sister and the guy you just met and tell them all how much you love them. Tell each one that you’ve never felt this way about any other human being in the entire world and you’re so lucky and so glad and so grateful to have such an amazing, magical person in your life. And you believe it because it’s true.

Until it isn’t. Until everything about them — the way their voices trail, the way their mouths move when they chew, the fact that he crosses his legs at the knee, the way she speaks about movies she’s never seen, the way they refer to celebrities by their first names — starts to make you feel like your blood is filled with snakes and you want to scream awful things at them about how the sounds of their voices feel like teeth on your skin and how much you hate their mother or their apartment or yourself. You want to bury your hatred in them, but you’re never quite sure who you hate the most. You, it’s always you.