I’m Working Hard, Even If My Bipolar Disorder Makes It Seem Like I’m Not

Having bipolar disorder is probably the most humbling thing I’ve ever experienced.

It feels inevitable. It feels inconsistent. It’s incredibly depressing to know I may not be reliable, both to myself and to others. It’s scary. It’s isolating. It’s deceptive.

• What is Bipolar disorder?

I look back upon my childhood, and while I was never the most confident kid in the world, I did believe I had gifts and talents. I was smart, and I worked hard.

But it feels so untrue now. I didn’t keep up and the world has passed me by. I think of all my failings. I think of all the co-workers who went on to be promoted, even though I knew I was just as capable. But deep down, I knew I wasn’t doing as much as them, and it felt like my fault. Why wasn’t I trying as hard anymore? Why didn’t I seem to care?

The truth is, I was trying just as hard, only the performance review didn’t reflect the work I was doing: I was staying alive.

I was getting up in the morning, sometimes caring enough to make myself a simple breakfast of oatmeal or cereal. I showered. That one I did consistently. (Well, mostly.) I got dressed, despite feeling completely uncomfortable in a body I’d neglected over the years. I hated the way I looked in anything, so I didn’t care to try very hard. People noticed. They would comment how “dressed up” I looked when I wore jeans. It hurt every time to know they were right. But it’s too painful to say, “Yeah, because today I didn’t completely hate myself.”

But I tried. And I lived on.

Loved ones died. Far before their time. People who remembered the potential I still had inside. They slowly disappeared one by one. Their memory and love kept burning deep inside me somewhere, never to be extinguished. I would make them proud.

So, I kept one foot in front of the other. I lived on. But my march didn’t keep pace with the world around me.

Another performance review, another reminder of how others would do more, how inadequate I felt. All my effort and energy was being spent in invisible and thankless ways. I showed up to work on days where I just wanted it all to end. I didn’t recognize the strength of my accomplishment. When a storm is blowing against you, even standing in one place is sometimes the most impressive thing you can do. That’s how I feel most days at work, somewhere on that spectrum. I’m not fired. I’m not unemployed. I’m still supporting myself. During the dark days of depression, if I gave in for even a moment, those are the threats I face. But the distance between my peers and myself grew further and further apart.

And yet, I have moments of brilliance and clarity. Or so it seems. Beautiful and dangerous. Days when I feel as if I can accomplish anything, if only the energy stayed with me. But tragically, sometimes that energy is the hypomanic confidence of a deceptive gift: the ups to my downs. I feel most myself when I feel that way, but I also feel betrayed: it’s inevitable it won’t last, the feeling is fleeting.

I met a woman. She was different. Suddenly, I wasn’t struggling for just survival. I wanted so much more for myself, and somehow it felt possible again. She didn’t seem to be bothered by the inconsistency as much, and somehow, I wasn’t as inconsistent. She was my anchor and my lighthouse, keeping me grounded and pointed in the right direction all at once. She saw me for who I am, but also for who I could be, and I felt a confidence inside that had long been extinguished. It grew stronger, and I started to believe in myself again. I was… happy?

It ended.

But I have changed. I know what it feels like to be those things again. It’s painful it is gone for now, but there is hope it can be again. The long shadows have returned, and with them, the doubt and despair. I don’t care about anything, but I know I can someday. I’m not doing much beyond existing right now. My friends and co-workers may not see it, but that is a lot. Standing still is a lot.

I struggle to accept I may never live up to the lofty goals I once set for myself. That is not defeat, it is survival. I believe the humility and pain of my disorder has brought me to a deeper understanding of what is truly important in this world. I take none of your love for granted. I cannot make others understand how hard I am working to simply be, I can only try to make myself understand it.

I am humbled by the storm.