Basketballer Penina Davidson, back in New Zealand after four years of study at University of Cailfornia, Berkeley, opens up on living with her bipolar disorder.

As Penina Davidson rolls up her sleeve she reveals a long scar running lengthways on the inside of her left arm. It's a mark she no longer hides, or is ashamed of. Just like the tattoo on the other side, it is a symbol of the journey she has been through dealing with mental illness amid a transcendent sporting career.

Davidson, it turns out, is a remarkable young woman. She is an outstanding basketballer, having first played for the Tall Ferns as a teenager back in 2013, and just finished four successful years on scholarship at the University of California, Berkeley (she was a starter her final two years, and enjoyed three trips into the women's NCAA Tournament).

But hoops success just scratches the surface of this athlete's story, and she wants to tell it in the hope it will help others in similar situations to cope with what can be a harrowing, and even life-threatening, experience.

Nina, as she's known to her friends and colleagues, is 22 now, has graduated from Berkeley – rated among the finest public universities in the world – with a degree in sociology, and is about to embark on a professional basketball career that will take her first to Australia, but hopefully on to Europe, which she yearns to explore. She is also bipolar, and has been dealing with the twin impostors of that condition for longer than she cares to remember.

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This tall (1.90 metres), athletic Aucklander was diagnosed with bipolar disorder during her sophomore (second) year at Berkeley. Just imagine it: thousands of kilometres from home and family, immersed in an unforgiving elite sporting environment that co-exists, at times uneasily, with an equally demanding education system. And she discovers she has a mental disorder that the medical profession, for the most part, is still largely getting its head around.

It was a juncture that could have caused Davidson's world to crumble. After a friend's intervention, when it became apparent things had escalated alarmingly, she had spent three days in a medical facility being probed and prodded, all while coming to terms with her new reality.

Could have. But it didn't.

Far from being discouraged by the diagnosis, Davidson was heartened by having certainty, after living with the condition for years. (She can recall symptoms manifesting as far back as her later years in high school, but can't be sure when it first took hold.) Now it was about figuring out the best way forward.

"To actually hear it was a relief," says Davidson, over a cup of coffee in Auckland. "My last year of high school I could feel it. One day I would be on top of the world. It feels like you'd drunk 10 spiked coffees. I'm up all night, I have all this adrenaline and I'm wanting to get everything done. Those times I was often training from midnight till 2am, like it was normal.

"Then all of a sudden the crash would come. I don't want to do anything. I don't want to get out of bed. I feel heavy, sluggish, and can barely move. My training was not effective at all."

The transition to a new, challenging environment at Berkeley, the cultural changes, the solitary nature of her journey ... they all created stresses that, of course, exacerbated the symptoms of a bipolar disorder – those highs (mania) and lows (depression) that strike at intermittent intervals.

"I was having nights when I'm not going to sleep at all ... then big crashes. And I don't have control over when these crashes or highs come. It was kind of riding the wave in college till I couldn't ride it any more – and fell off."

The symptoms manifested themselves in many ways. One was a spontaneous recklessness with spending. "One time I bought $100 worth of dreamcatchers, and I'm hanging them all up in my room like it's normal. It wasn't till later I'm realising at times I'm barely even eating because I'm doing stupid stuff like spending $100 on dreamcatchers."

The most serious was the self-harm. "I never thought it was something I would do. It's not something I used to think about. Then, all of a sudden, it happened. For practices I'd have to wear long sleeves (to hide the marks). Then one day someone accidentally touched my arm and it started bleeding. It was just crazy.

"There were times I didn't even realise what I was doing. I was so mentally out of it. I guess that's what I went to."

A low point, but also a turning point after a friend's intervention sent her to a psychology ward for three days of evaluation.

CHRIS MCKEEN/STUFF Tall Ferns basketballer Penina Davidson says being diagnosed with a bipolar disorder 'helped me get a lot of guilt off my shoulders'.

She looks back on it as a watershed moment. "If you can't tell your mum what you're doing in the dark, then you probably shouldn't be doing it. I remember when my mum came to visit, I was wearing hoodies and long sleeves in the summer. I thought 'I can't do this; I can't hide for the rest of my life'.

"My cry for help was actually telling people I was doing this, and their way of help was checking me. It helped knowing my support system knew I was doing it. Leaning on people has been good for me."

It is why, on her right arm, Davidson bears the tattoo of a wing. It signifies her mother, Bronwen, who is "my wing woman". When the real thing is not on hand, she draws strength from it.

"It reminds me I have people behind me ready to lift me up when I need it. Sometimes with bipolar you can feel like you're all by yourself. Just looking at it reminds me I've still got my mum."

Bronwen didn't initially like the tattoo (what mothers do?) but when her daughter explained its significance she melted. She says it's been a tough road for the entire family (father Greg, brother Isaac and little sister Mareta complete the unit), but one they've negotiated with purpose and a plan.

"When she was diagnosed, it was like, 'OK, it has a name, we can deal with it now'," recalls Bronwen. "She was determined she was going to navigate these choppy waters herself. If I could have traded places with her I would, but she told me 'If I quit now, I'm always going to quit. I have to see this through'."

There were times Bronwen wanted nothing more than to fetch her daughter back from her distant home.

But once they accepted Nina was in it for the long haul, they made sure the right people had "eyes on her at all times". They talked a lot, and figured out a way through.

After the diagnosis, the mists cleared for Davidson. She finally had an understanding of what she was dealing with.

"A lot of my behaviour has finally been explained," she says, with a smile. "I'm not blaming bipolar for the things I do, or did, but it's helped me realise I could get a lot of guilt off my shoulders and that I was doing some things to myself I didn't have control of, and that I had to learn to deal with.

GETTY IMAGES Penina Davidson, in action for Cal, says 'leaning on people has been good for me' as she has dealt with her mental illness while juggling her basketball ambitions.

"It was like a jigsaw puzzle ... I was finally able to finally put the pieces together. I wouldn't say I'm on top of it, but I don't live my life around it. I live my life with it, and that's pretty good."

In a first-person essay for a Berkeley website, she wrote "not being 100 per cent doesn't mean I'm broken" and it's a mantra she has embraced.

She no longer has regular doctor checkups – "It made me feel like there was something serious wrong with me. There's not" – and has cut out medication. By choice.

"It was making me drowsy. In practice one day I almost fell asleep standing up. I was like, 'I can't do this'. Medication isn't for everyone. I recommend it if you think it helps. But there are other plans."

Davidson got through her remaining two-and-a-half years at Berkeley by having a strong support team, which included close friends at the university, management on the team, her brother just up the road attending Sonoma State University, and a family in nearby Alameda.

"It was step by step, with close monitoring and some fairly staunch conditions. But we got there," adds Bronwen. "It's her journey, and her story, but I'm just so proud of how she's managed it."

Being organised and disciplined helps. "I know if I'm due for a high I won't drink coffee (a big sacrifice, as she loves her coffee)," says Penina. "If I know I'm due for a low I'll set my alarm and make sure I wake up at a certain hour because if I sleep too long that just prolongs it.

"It still comes back to bite me, but I try to make that bite a little less vicious."

ROBERT PREZIOSO/GETTY IMAGES Penina Davidson, in action for the Tall Ferns against Australia, will pull back on her country's colours in July..

Davidson is telling her story because she understands the impact it can have. At Berkeley, where she opened up on her condition, "I've had kids tell me how much they appreciate my story, and it's warmed my heart knowing my words have somehow made them feel stronger. I've had someone cry in my arms because I was able to say I was living with something."

Above all, Davidson wants to remove the stigma that goes with mental illness. "There are negative connotations ... but I'm like 'You know what, if you're going to be ashamed of it, it's not something you have to deal with, it's something I have to deal with'.

"I have realised my high is like a drug, and I don't want to abuse it. But I can get good things out of it. I'm up all night, so I watched three movies one time, did my laundry, got breakfast, and finished my essay, all before 6am. That made me happy."

Adds Cal Golden Bears head coach Lindsay Gottlieb: "Nina was a fan favourite for her toughness on the court, but my love and respect for her stems also from how she handled her time with us off the court. Nina is a young woman that has been as willing as any that I've ever coached to look tough things in the face. Not go around them, not run away from them, but to walk through them.

"Nina was, at every turn, committed to not only the Cal programme, but her own health and wellbeing. Her willingness to share some of the mental health issues she has faced is courageous and I have so much admiration for her."

Of course, being bipolar doesn't define Penina Davidson. She's immensely proud of the person she has become via her Berkeley education (she wants to teach kids one day). She was actually supposed to attend nearby Stanford, but that fell through when her grades failed to make their strict threshold.

"It was pure luck. Berkeley is where I needed to be. Everything happens for a reason and that definitely happened for a reason.

"It has to be one of the most open-minded, flat-out diverse places I've ever witnessed. I'm grateful I went to Berkeley because I now have the mind and ability to think about things in a way other people might not. Berkeley has given me an awesome platform to grow from."

She recommends the American college experience, with a pretty firm caveat: "It's not as glamorous as we make it out to be. It's a grind. You will get eaten up if you're not prepared to love the grind. I failed a lot. I failed with school and failed with basketball. The cool thing is you're not going anywhere, so you've got to get back up and try again.

"I told some girls recently you have to love it even when you hate it, and you have to learn what that means. If you can do that, go ahead: it's a chance to see the world, get an education and play some great hoops."

This young woman, who grew up in Auckland's Mt Roskill, then shifted to the Shore where she would attend Rangitoto College, has come a long, long way from the youngster who would deliberately leave her shoes at home to avoid playing basketball, and whose first basket "was for the other team".

As she embarks on this pro career, and pulls back on that black singlet of her country (she is in the Tall Ferns heading next month to the William Jones Cup in Taiwan), Davidson will cast her mind back to her early days at Berkeley when she was living in a dorm room on the eighth floor of a building with no working elevator, on the top of a three-person bunk, and would tell herself it's the "one-percenters that matter".

"Every night I got to see the sun setting over the city, and that made the room better, then after that I started seeing other things that were better. My room-mates were actually super cool, and climbing the stairs was free exercise. Even when 99 per cent seems to be falling apart, that 1 per cent can give you the right perspective.

"I remember thinking 'it's going to be OK'."

BIPOLAR DISORDER

The Ministry of Health says bipolar disorder may be diagnosed "when a person experiences both periods of elevated mood (known as mania) and low mood (depression)". The Mental Health Foundations says it can result in "the most overwhelming, frightening, isolating and debilitating experiences".

There are two types of bipolar disorder: Type 1 means you get bouts of mania and depression; Type 2 also means bouts of mania and depression, but the mania is milder. There is no test for bipolar disorder, with a diagnosis made based on symptoms.

WHERE TO GET HELP

Lifeline (open 24/7) - 0800 543 354

Depression Helpline (open 24/7) - 0800 111 757

Healthline (open 24/7) - 0800 611 116

Samaritans (open 24/7) - 0800 726 666

Suicide Crisis Helpline (open 24/7) - 0508 828 865 (0508 TAUTOKO). This is a service for people who may be thinking about suicide, or those who are concerned about family or friends.

Youthline (open 24/7) - 0800 376 633. You can also text 234 for free between 8am and midnight, or email talk@youthline.co.nz

0800 WHATSUP children's helpline - phone 0800 9428 787 between 1pm and 10pm on weekdays and from 3pm to 10pm on weekends. Online chat is available from 7pm to 10pm every day at www.whatsup.co.nz.

Kidsline (open 24/7) - 0800 543 754. This service is for children aged 5 to 18. Those who ring between 4pm and 9pm on weekdays will speak to a Kidsline buddy. These are specially trained teenage telephone counsellors.