The truth about bipolar women no one talks about: I’m in recovery now – thank God – but how can I explain to a man that I used to get off on anonymous sex? And my biggest regret of all… AMANDA GOFF

You’ve probably heard of bipolar disorder. It used to be called ‘manic depression’ – which, while an outdated term, accurately sums up the dizzying highs and crushing lows felt by suffers.

Between two and three per cent of the global population have bipolar and it doesn’t discriminate when it comes to gender. However, it is known to affect women more profoundly due to hormonal influences.

There is a taboo that surrounds the personality disorder, in particular how ‘manic’ episodes can lead to risk-taking behaviour, sexual impulsivity, even infidelity.

For some suffers, anonymous sex in particular can be thrilling, even addictive. But once in recovery, coming to terms with your past behaviour can be challenging.

For Mail+ columnist Amanda Goff, her bipolar diagnosis changed everything. Leaving behind her life of recklessness and casual sex, she sought out a new path, gave up her life as the escort ‘Samantha X’ and went in search of Amanda.

In her new memoir, Misfit, she shares a brutally honest account of what it’s really like to experience mania – and all the risks and regrets that come with it…

Well, move along , we have LIFT OFF again! Your exciting friend mania is back. I feel elated, jumpy. I can’t sit still. I went to the gym, then did two Pilates classes in succession, then went for another walk with the dog. 

I walk faster, I talk faster, I laugh louder. I feel like I’m floating. I feel disassociated, happy, excited. I practically skip into my café, grin at everyone, talk to strangers. I chat up men, I wink at them as I walk past. I have even been know to wink at speed cameras when I race past. 

I push my boobs out, wear tighter clothes. Look at me, look at me! I feel like I’m in a movie and the star of the show. Feelings of grandeur – delusions – come back; ridiculous yet genuinely concerning thoughts like How will the world cope without me when I die? It will never be the same… The world needs someone like me, my energy, my joy. 

I meet a friend for coffee; I can’t sit still, I can’t concentrate. I find it hard to listen and be present. Why is she talking so much? I’m the star of the show! I’m trying to slow my mind down and listen to her but it’s like she’s talking in slow motion – I am mentally racing ahead. 

I get back on Hinge, I want to have sex. I match with men, the oldest is 32. Perfect. I flirt with them all. I want to feel powerful again! I am powerful again! So many likes already. Of course, they won’t find better than me. I’m the best!

I can’t sit still so I go for another walk. I see a good-looking man working in the local charity shop; my gut tells me he’s on community service, a bad boy. He’s tattooed, big arms. Perfect, I love a bad boy. I quickly go home, throw a few things into a bag – things I actually don’t want to give away, but I am in a trance. 

Oh, this is so FUN, Amanda, this is more like me! You’ve been dormant for too long!

I smile from ear to ear. Ahh, Samantha. It’s good to have you back. Take a seat and watch the show. 

I walk back to the charity shop and ahh, there he is. I approach him, I give him the bag, smiling, flashing my teeth, batting my eyes, sticking my chest out. ‘I only came in to see you,’ I tease. I ask him what he’s doing volunteering.

‘I’m just a nice guy.’ He smiles, trying not to look at my tits. 

‘Tell me the real reason.’ Look at them, I think, pressing my chest out even more.

‘I’m on community service.’ He tries to hold my gaze but sneaks a look. 

‘I know you are.’

‘How?’

‘Takes one to know one.’ I grin and nudge his arm.

‘Are you coming onto me?’ He looks again.

‘Yes, I am. Call me later.’ I give him my number. That’s six men today. I walk home, the power surging through my bones, like jolts of electricity. On the way home, a man approaches me in the street. ‘Excuse me, miss, you’re beautiful. My name is Ben. I work at [a well-known bar]; I’m the manager.’

I smile. I know where this is going. I think quickly.

‘Oh? I was going to go there tomorrow!’ A lie. 

‘You were?’

‘Yes!’

‘OK! Maybe I can get you a nice table, can I take your number?’

‘No, I’ll see you tomorrow, though!’ Always one step ahead, Amanda, one step ahead.

He shakes my hand; his eyes glance over my body. I smile. I know, my friend, I know, look at my breasts, admire me. I feel sorry for him. Another man under my spell. It’s the energy I am giving off. 

The charity guy texts. ‘What are you doing tonight?’

‘You.’

‘This is the guy you met at the shop.’

‘Yes, I know.’ I roll my eyes. He’s boring me already. I throw the phone down. I can’t be bothered with him anymore. It was the thrill, the chase, the high I wanted. It’s too easy now. Who’s next?

I go back on Hinge. I match with lots more younger men. Perfect. I flirt with them all, getting off on the thrill. 

I chat with a 28-year-old cop, and you know my fetish for cops. 

‘Hi, handsome.’ I wait for his response and cackle to myself as the conversation starts.

I get off on the control, their desire, my courage. I arrange to meet him later. I’m laughing, the electricity throbbing through me, my thoughts racing, flickering, buzzing.

‘Fancy catching up tonight?’ texts the hot cop.

‘Yes.’

Game on.

It’s not going to end well, it never does, but I can’t stop and I don’t want to. And more importantly, I can’t. Like the train hurtling out of the tunnel again. It’s left the station. It’s too late. 

I may as well buckle in for the ride.

Let’s go!

You’re coming too, Samantha, don’t worry. You always do. 

This is an edited extract from Misfit: The Unravelling of Samantha X by Amanda Goff, published by Echo on 4 March 2025 priced at $34.99.