Bear with me. This is going to be a long post.

In January, I shared about my struggles with depression. Putting that post out there in such a public fashion made me nervous, but I decided to share, hoping that maybe the post would help someone else feel less alone. The outpouring of support from readers, colleagues, and friends was overwhelming. And beyond that, I was touched by how many of you shared your own struggles. I think that the more we talk about a thing, the less stigma we’ll have attached to things.

In that spirit, I want to offer an update. At the time of that post, I was coming out of a dark period. For the first time in months, things were looking up. Unfortunately, a month later, I was back in the pit of despair. It wasn’t pretty. The one bright spot was my day job, which I adore. I love the challenge of my work, and the people I work with are so wonderful.

BUT… aside from my day job, I shut down again. I wavered between crying and emptiness. I couldn’t find the joy in anything. And once again (or maybe still) I couldn’t write. When I’m depressed, there’s a small voice in my head that gets louder and more authoritative. It tells me that my writing is crap. It’s unoriginal, uncreative, unimportant, unsellable… I’ll spare you the rest of the litany, but just know that it’s an unending loop of negativity all directed at me.

This time I realized that I could no longer cope on my own. Just slogging my way through it wasn’t working anymore, and it just seemed like a hellish way to live. So I decided to go to a psychiatrist. I’d tried that last year, but didn’t really connect with the person. But I lucked out this time and found someone who I really like. He asks questions, he listens, he’s empathetic, and he’s incredibly insightful.

And here’s where I tell you something that scared the hell out of me. He suggested that my struggle with depression might be something more. He – very gently – suggested that I might be bipolar. My writing and excessive productivity occur during my hypomania phases after which I crash into a depression.

My first reaction was a politically incorrect, uninformed “Oh, hell no. I’m not crazy.” But as he explained what the symptoms of bipolarity are I felt these inner pangs of recognition. This rightness that what he described was something I’d been experiencing for years, but I’d never had the vocabulary to be able to talk about it. So many things made sudden sense.

I left his office shell-shocked. I called my sister and then sent my best friend a picture of a bipolar bear because, you know, humor is one of the few tools I have to deal with news that sweeps my feet out from under me. And then I began to do my research.

It turns out that a kajillion creative people have had (or were suspected of having) bipolarity. Sherman Alexie, Katherine Brooks, Patricia Cornwell, Richard Dreyfuss, Stephen Fry, Graham Greene, Ernest Hemingway, Edgar Allan Poe, Jackson Pollock, Nina Simone, and Virginia Woolf just to name a few. I found dozens of articles about the link between creativity and bipolarity. Somehow, I transitioned from horror to acceptance. It feels like a huge relief to know that I’m not alone. There’s comfort in having a name to put to what I’ve been going through.

It’s also an odd thing to understand that in addition to the depression that I accepted as part of me, a lot of the parts of me that I take pride in are also derived from this. When I’ve been going to school full-time, working full-time, writing and editing novels, vlogging, marketing my work ALL AT THE SAME TIME, I could go on forever. I slept very little. I worked incredibly long hours. I was a machine, but one on fire with new ideas. These are the highs of the hypomania. I’m not going to lie. They are FREAKING AWESOME. I feel like I can take on the world and anything is possible.

But when I crashed, I crashed hard. I couldn’t be productive anymore. I didn’t feel creative. And I couldn’t understand why I could be that way sometimes at such an extreme level and then so far in the other direction at other times. I blamed it on depression, or worse, I saw it as a personality defect. Why couldn’t I just do it? Why couldn’t I get myself together? Why was I so lazy? I’d say these things to my friends and family, and they’d just look at me like I was crazy. Because they perceive me as hard-working, and they are right. I take pride in my work ethic. It’s one of my core values, which is why I was so hard on myself when I couldn’t find the energy to keep going.

It’s such a relief. A stunning, brilliant relief to suddenly see myself through a new lens. I don’t know if I can explain how much this has changed me to the people I know. I’m still working through the sadness, but somehow I have found this internal peace. I don’t have to beat myself up anymore. No person could maintain the highs that I was managing at. It’s never been a matter of pushing myself. It’s basic damned chemistry. I can’t tell you what that means.

And that’s why I decided to write this post. First, because my initial uneducated reaction is normal, and the more people are informed, the less likelihood there is for this kind of response. Second, if one person feels less alone, less terrified by my admission, then I’m okay with putting it out there.

It’s not without fear, though. The few people I’ve told have been supportive. Only one person has cautioned me about letting this out there, genuinely worried that doors will close to me in the professional sense if people know. And I know that’s a very real possibility that people will judge me.

To which I say, fuck that. This is my song of myself, my celebration of what makes me ME. I am bipolar. It changes nothing about who I am. I am driven. I’m very good at my job – both of them. I am funny. I am kind. I am creative. I am filled with satisfaction when I teach someone a new idea.  I spend too much time on Pinterest. I adore Spaghetti O’s and mochas. I feel guilty about liking American Dad. I trip over my own feet. I’m addicted to personality type tests. I love to debate things to death. I think one of the best sounds in the world is my best friend’s snort when she laughs. I love to shop way too much. And I believe that people are too good at heart to think that I’m less than I was before I wrote this post.

*****

If you want to read more about bipolarity and creativity, try these links. Note: there are different types of bipolarity. If you have better links, I’m happy to add them.

Bipolar Disorder and Creativity

Depression, Bipolar II

The Best Bipolar Health Blogs of the Year (compiled by Healthline)