Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, I'm Hiding My Bipolar Disorder From Them All


Unlike Snow White (or any other fairy tale), I am not surrounded by adorable forest creatures or beautiful flowers and trees. When I wake up I take an extra minute or two after my alarm goes off to determine if I actually want to go to work that day or if I even want to work ever again. Once I guilt myself into believing I’d be a horrible person for making my husband be the only one who works for this lifestyle we have. I take three medications among a handful of vitamins and wash it all down with a mug of green tea. I do my best to look decent for work and head off for what I know will be a long day. The minute I leave my car to walk into that building, I plant a big, fake smile on my face. I don’t want anyone to see that I only slept for three hours last night. I don’t want anyone to see that, for some reason, I have cried the entire drive to work. I don’t want anyone to know I cannot control anything my mind is doing.

As someone who manages a group of individuals, I believe I have mastered the art of deception. People ask me how my weekend was, how my morning’s going, etc. No one seems to be uncomfortable by me; in fact, people seem to want to spend more time with me, which instantly makes me nervous.

People don’t see my heart race when I have to go into a meeting. People don’t see my anxiety when I go to a coworker’s celebration. They don’t see my scraps of a lunch because I can’t be bothered to eat, and people don’t notice I can barely focus on my tasks. My eyelids weigh a thousand pounds, my mind is anywhere but work, and I am counting the hours until I can go home and nap.

Home, my safe haven. I muster up energy to eat something, anything to make my husband happy and allow me to get back to binge-watching TV or napping. An hour before bed I take my five nightly medications and a cup of melatonin tea, and as I drift off to sleep, I hope I don’t wake up in the middle of the night and begin the vicious cycle of insomnia.

I have bipolar II disorder, which means my moods can inexplicably change as often as someone might change their socks. I experience bouts of depression, anxiety, and mania, and they come upon me unexpectedly. Like unknowingly taking a bite of a poison apple, I have no idea which mood is coming, how long it will last, or how bad it will be. It is like Snow White living with the seven dwarves.

Not many people ask me what it’s like; it is just assumed what I feel are temporary emotions that will subside once I “calm down.” It’s been well over a year and a half now since I have been diagnosed and there is still stigma, misconception, and refusal to believe what I go through to continue to live a life uninterrupted. It has become such a hassle to deal with other people that I have learned to mask my health challenges to avoid having to answer any questions or deal with any type of ridicule. My medication helps me maintain a level of stability that helps me hold a job, go to graduate school, and live day to day without being in constant fear. However, when depression or anxiety sets in, I realize I seemed to have lost a sense of control over my mind, myself. It makes my  “bad days” even
worse, and trying to explain that feeling to others creates the most awkward silence I have ever experienced.

There are a few who have become part of my support group but as for those who play the minor roles in my life or those who know my diagnosis but don’t want to ask how I am doing, I have learned to put on a show for them. I have learned that appearances mean everything for certain people, and for them, I look and act “normal” but really, I am a Snow White who has lost all seven of her dwarves and can’t find her way to the light in the darkness of the forest.

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Thinkstock photo by MarinaZg

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