The Miracle of Showing Up When You Have a Mental Illness

One of the most precious things bipolar disorder robs from you is the confidence in your ability to show up as promised. For many, many years I was extremely reluctant to make social plans because I didn’t know if I’d be stable enough to keep the date when it rolled around.

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I knew I couldn’t show up manic because I’d suck all the air out of the room and undoubtedly end up saying or doing something wildly inappropriate that would have me cringing in remorse when the mania disappeared.

It was even dicier if I were depressed. I simply couldn’t face the horrors of the mirror then, plus it felt cruel to subject others to the contagion of my god-awful mood. It was worse if I were forced to cancel. Canceling was sure to cause a spiral of shame and self-loathing, which would only deepen the depression.

But bipolar disorder doesn’t come with an iCalendar telling you what mood is going to show up when. Its cruelest characteristic is its unpredictability—it destroys any sense of certainty, any feeling that your future is within your control.

And so I learned to live alone. I assumed this was how my life was destined to play out—just me and my bipolar beast, trapped together in our dysfunctional marriage of convenience and fear. I never expected to get better; or more accurately, I never expected to be able to act like “normal” people do. I never thought I could just pick up the phone and make a date for the unknowable future.

I was so deep in my despair that I didn’t even realize it was despair. I just thought that the sacrifice of a social life was the price I paid for being mentally ill.

So I’m thrilled and amazed and profoundly grateful to be able to admit that I was an absolute ignoramus. Until we attain the status of gods, we should never assume we know what the future may have in store for us.

How could I possibly have known that I’d eventually discover the right combination of medications to tame my erratic mood swings? Or that my hard work in therapy would finally come to fruition? Or that I’d reap the awesome benefits of mindfulness? Or that long-term, consistent sobriety would make my life feel more under my control?

How could I have known that as a result, I’d one day reach “euthymia”—that blessed place on the bipolar spectrum where neither mania nor depression significantly interferes with my daily functioning? That was a hope too far-fetched to entertain. I would have thought myself a fool for believing in an impossible dream.

But dreams are the playthings of the darkness, and I have entered the light. This week alone, I’ve scheduled two lunches, one dinner, a doctor’s appointment, and a romantic rendezvous. It’s true, I feel a bit overwhelmed, but I know that I can deal with it.

I know how to take care of myself now—get enough sleep, eat well, prioritize time to decompress after socializing, try to stay focused on the present moment. On those rare occasions when I absolutely have to cancel, I give myself the grace of self-compassion and realize that I’m doing what’s best for my mental health at that time.

The uncertain future is not so uncertain these days. It’s only tomorrow, and I can handle that.