High-Functioning Bipolar: Living A Double Life
My doctor said, “Wow, you’re a high-functioning bipolar.” He smiled and jotted something down. I’m 100% honest with him about my feelings, side effects, moods. I get my bloodwork when I’m supposed to, most of the time, okay sometimes a little late, but I get it. I enjoy our time together. I feel he has my back and, more importantly, he cares about my life even when I don’t.
But I’m not sure he got this one right — nope, nada, noperino!
What is a high-functioning bipolar?
Some would say: Someone who is high-functioning despite having a mental disorder. An individual with bipolar who can function normally over a long period yet experience dramatic mood swings that alternate between periods of heightened creativity powering her to “pull all-nighters” at the office and states of depression during which he cannot get out of bed for days due to debilitating fatigue.
Others might claim: The term high-functioning bipolar is a joke and not in the funny sense. It was initially an attempt to define a subset of bipolar victims who seem to have better coping skills than others — people who show signs of functioning almost as if they didn’t have the condition. But, unfortunately, the characterization is actually insulting and denigrating. High-functioning vs. low-functioning is like clean vs. dirty; these terms imply there’s something wrong with somebody for participating in a certain level of social discourse.
Still, others say: High-functioning bipolar people have bipolar disorder and do not experience behavioral phases of high or low moods. People diagnosed with a standard form of the illness typically behave in either a manic or depressive state for weeks, known as “mania” and “depressive episodes.” This can lead to significant trouble at work and home due to decreased impulse control, which ends up drawing resources away from proper socializing. Those with high-functioning bipolar may go entirely without symptoms of mania-type states during their lifetime.
So, what’s the right answer?
It’s probably a mashup of all three, with each individual experiencing it uniquely. That’s what you’d expect me to say. Bipolar is a spectrum disorder which means there is a long list of symptoms affecting EVERYONE DIFFERENTLY. That’s what they always say.
Not this time.
I’m a high-functioning bipolar living a double life.
This isn’t an exciting 007, Mission Impossible, Mr. & Mrs. Smith kind of double life — oh no no no — this is a Phantom of the Opera; you only see half my real face double life.
High-functioning means I’m really good at hiding what I’m feeling from you. I’ve learned how to push my anxiety, pain, and sorrow down — to compress it and stand on it to rise above bipolar disorder. My psychiatrist — he can see what I’m doing. There are tell-tale signs of what I’m really feeling. Remember, you still see part of my real face. But, the average workmate, the clerk at the UPS store, my kids, my husband — all they see is Summer making it with a smile on her face.
I can hold it for a while, but I can only keep the anxiety, pain, and sorrow compressed for so long. I only have so much strength. If no one talks to me and I have no meetings, and I have a little luck on my side, I can make it an entire workday. Conversations and meetings require a lot of energy. The mask is constantly trying to fall away, but I must hold it secure. That’s what people expect. They expect me to keep it together because “normal” people do.
Eventually, I run out of strength.
My compressed platform of raw feelings dissolves under my feet.
The foundation is as fractured as my mind.
I fall slowly back through the anxiety, pain, and sorrow I’d built my faulted foundation with.
I land painfully in my reality.
Notice I say MY reality. MY reality isn’t always parallel with REAL reality. That same brainpower that helps keep me “high-functioning” is also really good for convincing me the world is a dark, dank, relentless place where everyone stares at me. The whispers behind my back cause a panic that starts as a ball of fire in my chest — expanding until I can’t think straight. I stutter and stumble over words. I have to run. I have to hide. I have to get away from everyone. I need silence. I need to be ALONE!
That’s my reality. That’s my everyday world.
In MY world, I’m a fat, ugly, disgusting piece of trash that’s worth less than the dog crap stuck on the bottom of your shoe from last month’s trip to the dog park. Every word I say sounds like nails on a chalkboard. The sound of my voice annoys me to tears. There’s no way to express in words how repulsed and revolted I am with myself — in MY reality.
And guess what?
While all this is happening, I manage to hold on to my Phantom mask most of the time. That’s the “high-functioning” bipolar in me. I shield those around me from the ugliest parts of the disease. The parts that would do nothing more than evoke feelings of pity in their hearts. Or scare them enough to have me committed to a psychiatric hospital. (Just being honest!)
The Next Chapter: After the Fall
I’m holding on to the mask for dear life. As long as I can hide some of what’s really happening, I can stay in “control,” and that’s what people use as a gauge for sanity. As a gauge for competency. If I’m not competent, I’m worthless. If I’m not sane, I’m nothing.
Days pass, and I go through the motions of life just like everyone expects. I’m healing on the inside. The bruises are deep, and they take longer than expected to heal. Eventually, I reach the dull, less painful depression where I’m used to living. I thrive here. As much as I can while being stuck in a pit of whatever hate my mind is spewing at me at any given second. It’s always something. Some days are easier than others. Some days I can’t breathe without help. Some days I don’t want to live anymore. (Just being honest, again!)
BECAUSE I keep going through it all.
BECAUSE I hold my mask in place as if my life depended on it.
BECAUSE you don’t have to see what’s really going on under it all.
THAT means I’m “high-functioning.” But, it doesn’t mean I’m LIVING!
I’m functioning when I wake up and start my day.
I’m functioning when I clock into work and complete various tasks.
I’m functioning when I cook dinner, shower, read.
Sure, the medications make things easier. The downs aren’t so low, and it takes less time to recover from a fall. The edginess isn’t so sharp. The right meds will even help clear your mind of the muddy emotions you pack in there — that you know you shouldn’t be holding onto.
But, underneath everything, the sadness never ends. The anxiety never stops. The constant vibration of raw nerves is deafening. I’ve prayed more times than I can count to wake up deaf so I wouldn’t have to hear another sound again. (Another piece of honesty right here!)
So, What’s The Point of What I’m Saying?
Just because someone is a “high-functioning” bipolar doesn’t mean they need less help, less attention, less care than someone who’s lower functioning. Likewise, just because we look like we have our *ish together doesn’t mean we’re not drowning underneath it all.
We need the mask to function, but underneath that mask is a person who needs just as much help as anyone else fighting bipolar disorder.
We NEED companies to understand that bipolar is a physical disease as much as a mental one.
We NEED companies to open lines of communication when it comes to mental illness in the workplace.
We NEED companies to provide flexible scheduling to give us the freedom to work around our mood changes.
We NEED companies to accommodate for doctor’s appointments, therapy appointments, bloodwork, hospitalization, and extra time off without treating us like you’re doing us a favor.
I am a “high-functioning” bipolar. I hide my true face so I can make it through each day without falling apart in front of your eyes. I hold myself together because it’s what I’m supposed to do. I push everything down and stand on it as long as I can to make life easier for you. And even when I fall, I try, with everything I am, to hold the mask in place that hides the darkest parts of my mind, so I don’t scare you.
