I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder 15 years ago. It took me 5 years of med changes, hospitalizations, therapy and ECT to get stable. I am functional now but I work really hard every day to try and stay level. I still take meds, use a lot of mental tricks, have a strict schedule and see a therapist. I still get depressive and manic episodes but they aren’t as severe as they used to be. But some days it takes everything I have not to run up the halls at school screaming about how my research is going to save the world (well on manic days lol).

This where my frustration comes in. Now I know everyone has struggles and their own issues. But I can’t help but get pissed off when I am told that they don’t know why I needed more time to get something done. That someone is taking a week off because they “aren’t feeling it” so they got a medical excuse. When people share their thoughts on people with mental illness… like someone like me is impressive if they manage to eat a bowl of soup by themselves. And I can’t tell them I have bipolar. I mean sure in a magical world we could disclose that info and not be judged. But we know it doesn’t go down like that. So there I am telling my fellow grad student that I understand why the death of their plant upset them so much they can’t come in, meanwhile fighting the urge to just lay on my desk and cry for no reason other than I am severely depressed. 

I’m thankful I got better. I worked extremely hard and had the right circumstances that I got better. Sometimes I think it feeds the illusion that everything is okay. Which makes me feel even lonelier. So all I can do is keep fighting and hope that I don’t get an episode bad enough that it unravels everything.