As I return to writing this newsletter I’ve decided to make things a lot more honest, and even more revelatory of the struggles and successes of a life spent trying to manage bipolar disorder. I’ve learned a lot studying and writing about research into mental illness and presenting ideas about therapies and practices which can be used to live well with a mood disorder. I’ve met with a little success. I’ve got two books published, which sold a few copies, and I have some readers of this newsletter who have been in touch to let me know that I have made a positive impact on their lives. This makes it all worthwhile, which is important. Because I’m not well-known enough to make any real money as a mental health advocate, but I am searchable enough to ensure that, given the stigma against those with mental illness and the misunderstanding of the potential and capabilities of those with mental illness, my notoriety severely limits my job prospects.
This is ironic because the keystone of my advocacy is to promote work as the most important factor in living well with a mental illness. Work leads to purpose, productivity and independence. Life without work is hell, and yet the seeming goal of the psychiatric industry is to coddle people onto disability and away from any real social reality of the risks and rewards that only work can provide. I’ll be the first to admit that work can be challenging, but it is precisely that challenge, the small victory of showing up every day and doing something for and with others, that makes life meaningful. Everything worthwhile takes effort, and work is the best place to develop and express that effort. So every day, no matter how I feel, I make it out the door and put in an honest day at my job, no matter how good or bad that job is.
Every day until today.
Like many people with a mental illness I work a fairly low-paying yet demanding job. Mine is in retail. When asked how I like it I say that I love my job, which I do, and I hate absolutely every second of it.
The people I work with are great, and we sell good products to customers who really listen to what we have to say. Retail, at its best, is a sort of performance, and the energy of selling fires a bit of manageable hypomania into my day and I spend the hours in the store mixing charisma with knowledge and do the best job I can.
But the store management is terrible. I’ve been working for decades, and I remember back in the 80s when the accepted management practice was to establish an adversarial relationship between management and staff. Well, this company still does that. They’re progressive enough to hire people with honest challenges and give them a chance that other companies may not. I work with others with mental illness, school dropouts and ex-cons. They are the hardest working, and most honest people I have ever worked with. But management treats us with derision and suspicion and, in their demands for performance that stokes their bonuses which do not filter down to the hourly staff, they exhibit little compassion or respect.
Then there are the specific challenges to retail: no set schedules and no consistent days off. We only find out when we’re scheduled to work about ten days in advance, and it’s not unusual to work a ten hour closing shift one day and be scheduled for a ten hour opening shift the next. I’ve missed countless family events, lots of sleep, and even more meals. My method of dealing with bipolar disorder demands a strict routine, yet a strict routine has become impossible. Part of why I took a pause from writing this newsletter is that I am exhausted. I work at this job for the benefits, but lately I’ve been scheduled just a couple of hours short each week of the hours required to maintain benefits. Into the stress of the job and the agitation it fosters I have entered a mixed episode that has left me angry and dark.
Yet I still show up, day after day, and still always do my best. Until today.
Since my book Practicing Mental Illness was published, fueled by the challenges of our collective experience of failure with Covid, politics and culture, and the fact that I stopped following my own program for health, I have slid deeper and deeper into a difficult mixed episode that is tearing my family apart and robbing me of all purpose. I’m turning away from, even lashing out at, those who care for me and have always helped. Yes, I may be exhausted, but my wife and daughter are at wits end. Still, despite all this, my performance at work has remained excellent.
Any sense of empathy left me until this morning. But I still felt on the verge of uncontrollable rage and began to have very serious thoughts about very bad things. This morning I felt like I experienced, from afar, because last night we were not together, the suffering of my wife and daughter and cursed myself for causing that. As I entered the store this morning I could barely function.
Two coworkers confided in me that the abuse from management had become too much and they were thinking of taking time off or quitting. Another told me they were hearing voices in their head. I felt their pain but just couldn’t take it. Panic set in. I approached my boss.
I didn’t know if I was going to ask for a break or to leave for the day. I reached out for some kind of help and said, “You know how I have bipolar disorder and write about it? Well, I have never used that as an excuse for anything…” And she said, “Not until now.” It was like she hit me and I spun and staggered in a daze. She said, to me, who almost never has missed a day, except when I had Covid, “Well, you’ve never used that one before.” I clocked out, said I’m sorry, and left.
Now I’ve screwed up my marriage, my daughter and my job. I’ll ask for forgiveness and another chance, and I’ll probably get it. But I’m feeling less and less like I deserve it. I don’t know what tomorrow promises, but I’ll draw on all the self-discipline I have to meet it. Because right now that’s all I have. I’m back at this newsletter, although it may be a bit more raw and troubling than it was before I decided to take a break. I’m afraid in the past I may have made dealing with life with bipolar disorder sound too easy. Well it’s not.
Not Until Now
A very important read for me. Shared one lengthy passage about your work philosophy with my girlfriend who struggles with her job. Life sure can be challenging and difficult going through an episode. But I survived a recent two-month manic stint. Still repairing damage but things are starting to flow more smoothly. I’m here if you ever want to chat or talk