I have bipolar and I lie. I have bipolar and I often feel my life is a lie. It isn’t lying about where I’ve been or what I’ve done — honesty about those things is easy — I lie about bipolar disorder. I lie about how I feel. I lie about what goes on inside my brain. And one of the biggest bipolar lies I tell is that I have “good days and bad days.” I know that when you have an illness you are supposed to say that. You are supposed for a whole host of reasons. So I say it. When people ask me how I am, I smile and say that my bipolar has good days and bad days. It’s a lie.
Why Lie?
Everybody lies. I know that and you know that. Everybody lies because it’s easier than telling the truth. There is a convenience to lying. You don’t want to tell the truth because of some impact it would have on you or maybe the other person. Lying is just easier than dealing with that impact.
When we carry this over to bipolar disorder, then, it’s easy to see why people lie about bipolar disorder. We lie about bipolar disorder to avoid the impact of the truth. For example, if I really tell you the truth that I’ve been depressed for years, I really feel bad about it. You really feel bad about it. Lying prevents all those bad feelings.
Why Lie About Bipolar Disorder?
And let’s not forget that if you are one of those depressed people, every smile is a little lie. Again, it’s easier to lie than deal with the impact. It’s easier for people to think you’re fine than deal with all the questions about how you’re really feeling. It’s much easier than having horrible conversations about how yoga/working out/a gluten-free diet/the latest shaman/stopping your medication would “fix” you. And boy is it easier than having to defend the very fact that depression exists to all those antipsychiatry folks out there. Lying is a critical skill for a person with a mental illness. We’re already very tired from being very sick. We don’t have it in us to constantly console you, explain everything to you, argue with you, and justify ourselves.
Lying About Having Good Days and Bad Days in Bipolar Disorder
And this brings us to the specific lie in question: why lie about having good and bad days in bipolar disorder? It’s a lie that I have told over and over. It’s a lie I will say again and again in the future too.
And there are so many reasons why.
First off, lying and saying that I have good days and bad days in bipolar disorder gives off the light of hope. It makes the other person this, “Oh, she’s sick but it’s not that bad.” Or “It’s only bad some of the time, so that’s okay.”
This hope makes the other person feel better. Yes, I’m the one with a life-threatening, chronic illness and I’m trying to make you feel better about it. (Trust me, this is a common thing in the
Secondly, when I say I have good days and bad days in bipolar it allows the other party to assume that I am having a good day right now. The other person doesn’t have to dig any deeper about today because clearly, it’s a “good” day if I’m out with another person. It lets the person off the hook — for today, anyway.
Also, it provides the other person an “out” with regards to worrying.
Now please understand, it’s not your fault that I lie to you. I make the choice. Me. I’m the one who chooses to avoid the fallout of the truth. I’m the one dodging the impact of honesty.
The Truth the Bipolar Lies Cover Up
And what is the honest truth?
The honest truth is that I haven’t had a really “good” day since 2010. I tried to kill myself that year, but I also had about three months of bliss as a new medication kicked in and made life worth living. It was magical. I actually wanted to smile and I meant it when I did. When I said I was happy for someone, I really was. When I said I enjoyed something, I really did. It was like heaven for me.
And the truth is that those feelings evaporated just as I was starting to trust their existence. I’m a smart girl. I know that medications can do weird things in the short-term. I wasn’t about to tell people that I was feeling better and then disappoint them — again. But after feeling that way for a few months, I felt like it was real.
But reality has a way of shifting on the crazy rather unexpectedly and unfairly. And for me, this meant a return to the hellish dungeon that is depression. It meant fake smiles. It meant never being happy for me, let alone anyone else. It meant not feeling joy for anything I did. That’s what it really meant.
And that’s what it has meant ever since then.
I do not have good bipolar days. Not really. I do not have days where the joy returns. I do not have days where my smile is real. Those things don’t happen.
That being said, some days the pain is worse than others, so some days are worse than others. But make no mistake — I handle my days, I do not enjoy them. I work through my days, I do not look forward to them.
The Impact of Not Lying About Bipolar
Did you want to know that? Nope, I’m pretty sure you didn’t want to know that. I’m pretty sure, in fact, that you’re sitting there wishing you hadn’t read it. Because those things I just said mean things. And they mean negative things, not positive ones. They might mean you feel sorry for me. They might mean you feel painful empathy. They might mean all kinds of things but none of them are pleasant.
And I’m sorry for that; I am. I’m sorry I just have bad and worse days. Part of my job here is to give you hope. Part of my job is to ensure you see hope in your situation. My job is not to squelch what hope you do have, that’s for sure.
But here’s what I can say about hope: If I, who hasn’t seen happiness in nine years, can get up and find a way to face another day that will likely suck, then so can you. There is absolutely nothing so special about me. I’m just a person. I’m just a person who wants to feel better. I’m just a person who doesn’t want to be sick — just like you.
So in all honesty, I will keep saying the bipolar lie that “I have good days and bad days” because it will alleviate people from what you’re feeling right now. It will soften the blow of my illness and make my day easier too. I hope you understand. I don’t like lying. It’s actually one of my lesser-favorite things. But it is an important thing.
Image by Flickr user Rafael Peñaloza.
Image two by SketchPort user Hababoon.
I lie by omission. I don’t say I have bipolar unless it is necessary. Too many people just plan their exit for the time you would need help they don’t want to give. Not cynical. That happened x3. It’s unfortunate that they probably don’t even know bipolar euthhymia exists and I’m enjoying the best mental health I’ve had as an adult for several years now. I wonder what they think people will do if they become a “burden”.
I’m sorry you have not had a good day in so long. I do have normal days and even good days. But stability seems to be relatively fleeting although fingers crossed my new meds have kept me from going to far off track. Just prolonged melancholy and emptiness or mild hypo mania instead of full-blown mania and psychotic mixed episode. (I wound up in hospital then medical leave for one of those in 2020)
But even on my good days my meds make me feel sick and effect my mental capabilities and makes doing what are simple things for a normal person much more challenging. And make so many days just mentally draining. But I never tell people that. I just say I’m good. Because I don’t want the deal with all the unsolicited advice. Do this, take that, don’t take the meds etc that’s even more exhausting.
Maybe a more honest response would be, “I have good moments and bad moments.”
Dear Natasha,
I have learned from reading your posts and the replies, that you have created hope in many by drawing all of your readers together, out of solitude and into a small society that is honest and supportive. Isolation is one of the worst by-products of depression. I believe you are doing far more than you realize.
By the way, “Fake it ’till you make it” is based on a belief that success is an achievement, so it’s self defeating, because it only leads to feeling you have to keep ‘faking’ to achieve more. The whole procees becomes fake. We all have the power to decide how we are successful. We can define that without anyone else needing to approve it.
Regards,
Steven B. Uhrik
Hi Natasha Tracy,
That you lie and lie and lie I guess that’s a very normal thing to do for someone in your position.
I also lie and lie and lie unless I’m under the eyes of a pdoc.
Imagine if i told the truth, i would have to explain myself over and over again, and that just drains my energy.
And more over, what have other people to do with my feelings, they are beyond normal so whatever I
explain, without the experience they don’t completely understand so why bother.
In comparison to you I do have good and normal days and it can last a while, but then out of nothing
things can get out of control again (depression or hypo-mania).
I was sad to learn that your depression is going on for such a long time, my longest depression only
lasted 14 months or so.
Kind regards from the Netherlands, Wiekert Blaak
I felt like I had bad days and worse ones. Some definitely manageable but after undiagnosed but apparently lurking Lupus SLE hit everyday is a worse day. I long for only dealing with bipolar. Just can’t fake it, treatments or not, people have exited my life. Related health problems keep hitting and make depression incredibly difficult. I can’t take anti-depressants. So hard.
Hi DW, Unless it’s contraindicated because of Lupus (and I haven’t researched that – so you probably know better,) don’t automatically assume that a person with bipolar d/o can’t have their state improved by an antidepressant. I was told that for 15 years by my first P-Doc, and I suffered horribly as a result. My subsequent (and brilliant P-Doc of 10 years) put me on Wellbutrin at a marginal dose, along with Lithium as a mood stabilizer, and what followed was the most stable and happy decade of my life.
No person with bipolar d/o should EVER take an antidepressant without first being on a mood stabilizer …and if then, start the antidepressant at a minimal dose and work up from there carefully, if needed. It is a shame that only about 50% of P-Docs I’ve known even know that much about this illness.
As stated, this may not apply to you due to your Lupus SLE, but it may help others out there who are on the fence about this option for the depressive phase of bipolar d/o. It worked for me.
Elaine, I have to seriously wonder if you’ve been misdiagnosed for bipolar disorder. It seems impossible to me that you have the same disease as I do. “Get out of the house and go somewhere pleasant?” Most days it takes the majority of my spoons just to get out of bed and get dressed. Although I’ve even gotta say that many days I don’t even have enough effort even for that. I spend a lot of my days in my pajamas. And I will tell you right now that it’s NOT because I lack the willpower or the mental strength to “rise above and heal myself”. And it’s incredibly insulting to suggest that ANYONE who spends their life in hell due to this illness is only in that hell because they CHOOSE to be there!
I was a very together, very high-functioning, happy and successful woman until I was 38 years old and got bipolar disorder. 22 years of living inside my bipolar brain has turned my life into complete hell. And it’s a nice idea to make a list of good and bad things in our lives, but just that little exercise requires more effort and energy than I can afford to spend on it. If I spent the spoons to make out happy-happy lists, I wouldn’t have enough effort left over to feed myself for the rest of the day. I understand that this disease is different for different people, and I have even heard (although it’s nearly impossible to imagine) that some people with bipolar disorder live “happy, productive lives”. It makes me wonder just how many of those happy bipolar people are lying just as effectively as Natasha – and most of us with bipolar – does. I believe that you believe that you’re helping other bipolar people by suggesting that we can simply think our constant depression away. We can’t. I’m an intelligent, well educated woman, and if there were any possibility in hell of escaping this bipolar depression nightmare that I live in, I would have discovered it a long time ago.
My lie? I give the exact same answer every single time anyone asks me how I am, and that lie is “I’m ok”. What does “I’m ok” even really mean? I don’t think I care enough to think it through.
And Natasha, I almost feel bad telling you this, but I do actually have a rare and precious “good day”. Or at least a “better than usual day”. And, unlike pretty much everyone I’ve heard talk about what hell even their hypomania is for them, the only time in my life that I feel even halfway human is when I’m hypomanic. I don’t experience anger, or even irritability, I don’t feel as though I want to crawl out of my skin – or up the walls, and I don’t wildly spend my disability income, suffer from hypersexuality (in fact, I’m very sad to say that I haven’t had any sex at all since 2006), experience feelings of grandiosity or an over-inflated ego, and I don’t have racing thoughts.
When I’m hypomanic, I do experience an elevated mood (and thank god for those small, brief moments of relief), I do get a little chatty sometimes when I’m around other people, although I believe that the primary reason for this phenomenon is that I am so freaking lonely 95% of my life, that I’m really, really thrilled just to have someone to talk to. I can also lose myself in a project, like working on my family tree on Ancestry or finally attacking the mountain of old family photos that I have to sort through but have been unable to even begin the job for the entire 8 months since the hypomanic day when I actually managed to dig through every drawer and cupboard in the house to get all of said photos in one place. Seriously – I have been gazing in horror at the stacks of photos and boxes of slides that now live in my living room for months and months, unable to approach the job, even on hypomanic days. It’s pretty embarrassing to be so intimidated by a collection of photographs.
And during my hypomanic episodes – which are almost always just a single day, and which I sometimes go a month or two without – I do actually feel a tiny spark of hope. For that little bit of time I can actually believe that maybe I CAN find the spoons to start a mild weightlifting regime and walk on my treadmill (both of which I did religiously for years before I got sick) again for short periods, because, damn it, I’ve been carrying around 70 pounds of medication weight for 3 years I have virtually no clothes that fit me, and my muscles have become so insubstantial that I can barely climb a flight of stairs or walk my dog around the block without my legs collapsing. And I can actually believe, for just a little while, that I might be able to sew, or knit, or quilt again. That perhaps I can someday do renovation projects again, or work New York Times crossword puzzles again. And just that brief little spark of hope that maybe, someday, I might actually be able to live again, is the only thing that allows me to live through the other 90% of the the nightmare that is my life.
I have (yet another) new psychiatrist since my suicide attempt, and naturally, he believes that, besides keeping me alive, his primary duty as my doctor is to prevent me from experiencing hypomania. It’s of the utmost importance that I should live in terror of, and hopefully NEVER actually experience, a hypomanic episode. I have been thinking this over (read obsessing on) quite a bit over the past couple of months (during which time I have been reduced to only one single day of hypomania), and I have decided that I have to refuse any treatment that even reduces – what to speak of eliminates – my hypomania. I have realized that those gentle, sweet little interludes are the only thing keeping me alive. The thought of not having even those small tastes of ambition, energy, self-motivation, and hope to look foreword to, makes the thought of living without them completely impossible. So, it’s going to be a very different kind of discussion when I see my psychiatrist again in two weeks. Then we shall see.
And Natasha, I have absolutely no idea of how you manage to go on existing in this bottomless pit of a life without even a rare spark to give you momentary relief. You’re a much stronger woman than I am. You’re amazing.
Georgia
Hi Georgia — Thank you for taking the time and energy to write.
My dad died and my mom went into a nursing home with dementia. My place is now like an old-timey curio shoppe. I don’t feel able to visit her consistently. It’s the same dread trying sort through all the photos and memories. The guilt is bad. Older relatives text “How’s your mom? How are you? How’s [your son]?”. My son has bipolar, too, and that’s another source of pain.
Georgia, I can’t see why she would be misdiagnosed because us bipolar people can function differently. As far as I understand there are all kinds of experiences—from people who have constant horrid anxiety and paranoid thinking to people who seem to function fairly well on medication, at least between episodes. I for my part is somewhere in the middle of the extremes. Some people seem to literally seem to function well for years but now and then psychotic mania hits and they have to be hospitalized. Also mental illnesses can change over time, both from medication and reasons we probably know very little about, growing older etc.
Hi,
I had a former therapist who would tell me to”fake it ’til you make it”. This always made me sad and often angry because it was lying. Hate to lie/be lied to. My refusal to fake it often leads to me ghosting others. When i feel shitty or manic, which for me = anger/rage, i just disappear until i can be civil. I would rather be absent than ugly or a liar.
Hi Doc,
I’m not sure I agree with the “fake it ’til you make it” thing. In fact, I think I might write about it. I don’t know that it’s right in general and I certainly don’t think it’s right for everyone.
– Natasha Tracy
Thank you for the article. It’s nice to read about someone else’s experience with bipolar disorder. My days are bleak, and I am surrounded by happy, productive, energetic people. I have no energy. It makes me feel like the biggest loser ever. I haven’t cried in years, even though I feel awful all of the time. I once tried to explain how it feels to be me, only to be met with platitudes. So I stopped. Now I am looking forward to the “mania” part to kick in, so I will have to energy to care about faking enthusiasm.
Hi Nickles,
I’m so sorry you were met with platitudes and not support and empathy — which is what you deserved. Please know there are people out there who will listen to you. There are people who will care. There are people who understand the uselessness of platitudes. Don’t give up talking to people. You just have to find the right person.
– Natasha Tracy
You’ve pretty much told my story, tho’ I’m not bipolar, just depressed. I remember the day my current depression, which has gone on for months, slammed into me, and it keeps getting worse, not better. At first I was simply depressed; now I feel fearful, worthless, and hopeless. I was told (yesterday, as a matter of fact) by a healthcare professional that I’m doing all the right things (yoga, meditation, socializing, medication, staying sober, many consultations with physicians and various therapists, about to embark on volunteer work), but my spirits just keep sinking. In my case, I think it may have a lot to do with aging, as I see my options and opportunities shrinking.
Natasha, I’m glad you feel able and safe to be honest about your true feelings. I know that it can suck to feel you can’t. Just speaking the truth where safe can be a form of release and maybe relief. Was writing this post either of those things to any degree?
I have definitely been prone to feigning wellness, in the past. I am actually good enough at doing so that I can convince myself, at times. Bot directions – depressed and hypo/manic. I fully understand the pressure to “keep my chin up and smile” (I hate this! My dad tells me this.) or respond “I’m fine” to “How are you?” I also know the reactions (sometimes ramifications) when I tell the full truth.
I do want to say that bipolar disorder need not seem like a happiness death sentence. I’m lucky that I do have true happy days, or at least happy moments. We do have different courses to our illness. We certainly can eventually finally rise out of the depression ditch. Other factors that perhaps give me happy moments/days include my general baseline outlook on life, types of expectations and priorities in my life, and progress in therapy or in utilizing coping skills. I’m not implying that you haven’t mastered or don’t possess some of these, but it takes practice to keep them up, get them back, or seize the moments. For me, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy with a great therapist was crucial, too. CBT, as you surely know, helps challenge dysfunctional thinking.
I can’t say or know if you truly haven’t had any good days or moments in all of these years, but I can say that depression is a trickster in making us forget them. It also tricks people into thinking life will be a never-ending series of bad days. Or that our existence is hopeless. Or that no one cares for us, or many other negative thoughts.
Some times a switch to feeling well requires a long arduous climb up a mountain in a blizzard. Sometimes it requires a paralyzing period of freeze before the figurative sun finally melts the depression away. Other times a simple spark is all it takes to reenergize us.
One might start a tally list of good moments, fair moments, and bad moments in the day. That person must be sure to tally all of them and write them down, as if on stone. Perhaps the list is particularly long in the “Bad Moments” category, but in my view, enough will populate the good and fair categories to make life more than worth it. If the negative moments list looks overwhelming, put a big “X” over it in red marker, or write out the words “F U” in large letters. Maybe that will help.
I work hard to fill my day with even the smallest pursuits of pleasure. I practice mindfulness (push myself to concentrate only on the birds in the trees or the deliciousness of a piece of chocolate). I get my butt out of the house and go to a place that tends to yield pleasant experiences. I get satisfaction in learning something new or reading/seeing/hearing something beautiful.
To anyone reading this, how often do you turn your mind to other things beyond mental illness or negative news, stressors, etc? I confess to thinking about my woes more often than I should, but I try not to let them crowd out everything else. I’ve quit all but one bipolar forum, and instead visit cooking, parrot, and other nice sites. I try to pick pleasant novels and write about pleasant things, not just mental illness. Crowd out the bad stuff the best you can.
A lovely post, Elaine, and I’m grateful for it. I was just thinking about how there is so much to read about depression on the Internet, but so little to read about recovery. Thank you so very much for your wonderful suggestions, which I intend to practice.
Good article, Natasha. Thanks for taking the time to write it. I can definitely relate to it.