Holding a Job with Bipolar in Mind
An article by “Paul C.”
Living with bipolar disorder, as I do, often means looking at things in a different way. Jobs are no exception.
I spent years (on and off) doing temp work at dozens of different companies in a handful of different US states. There was a little phrase I got to hear thousands of times. “Are you working hard or hardly working?” It’s a chirpy little thing that upper-management or the sales staff might fire off because they don’t know your name but still want to be friendly. Every time, I’d respond with a shy sort of smile before going back to whatever I was doing. It was no less than what was expected, and at least it gave me a tiny piece of the human interaction I badly needed.
And the fact is, I was always working hard. When I was assigned a project, I put everything into it. I would stay late, come in early, skip lunch or whatever needed to be done. I would ingratiate myself with coworkers and supervisors; even executive management if I had the chance. I was a super-achiever. In the work world, I was what I’d always been. I was a person with great potential who some day would be something incredible. It was something I believed to the bottom of my soul. It gave me a warm feeling as I drifted off to sleep each night.
Sometimes, the project would get extended, or my contract would get extended, or the company that contracted with my temp agency would hire me outright. Once my supervisors got a longer look, they got to see what I considered the “real” me. I might seem sluggish at work suddenly. Maybe I’d be late a few times a week with unlikely excuses. Often, I’d call in sick. I would lose track of what I was doing.
Part of me would hope I would just get fired so I could languish around at home and feel sorry for myself. Showing up and doing a good job seemed impossible and the dissonance between being a superstar and being… this, caused me such pain and despair—such a lack of hope.
I was hardly working. But in the sense that my mind was hardly functional. Was this my natural state? Was working hard and being appreciated for accomplishments just a fluke, and all in all, I was no better than a bum?
Bipolar disorder offers no synthesis, no middle-ground. It would have been impossible to think something like, “being up and being down are both my natural states, and the thing for which I can most hope is balance.”
That would have seemed a failure, a defeat, a weakness. In 1998, my thoughts about bipolar were that it was for people who were really, really sick. I thought it made people go into a rage one minute and then cry in a dark corner the next. Depression, on the other hand, made people “sad.” Maybe they could “snap out of it.” And if they couldn’t, it was probably a character defect.
My friends seemed to be accomplishing quite a bit in life. Me, however--I was hardly working; instead I was watching daytime television and drinking alone very night. And feeling utter shame and misery.
After five years of spotty employment, strained relationships, and an unhappy dalliance with alcohol, I sought treatment at last. It took many years to find a decent psychiatrist and an excellent therapist. The meds help me avoid the massive swings that would rocket me from office superman to that guy who’s emptying his desk into a box because he’d mostly quit showing up.
My therapist has helped guide me toward balance. She’s helped me to understand that I’m probably not going to be a top salesman or a CEO or the senior congressman from California. To someone with hypomanic upswings, it’s a hard thing to hear. But necessary. My unrealistic “goals” were holding me back, telling me to avoid anything I see as beneath me and keeping me chasing the most unlikely or impossible achievements. It was exhausting.
When you’re in that manic/hypomanic place, you imagine you can be the best at anything you touch. It’s crushing to hear that you have limits—very confining limits at that. And while that’s difficult, it’s much harder to reject treatment and wonder why you can’t achieve your lofty goals or struggle through another night that feels like it will never end.
I’ve learned to make more modest goals for myself. I’ve started working for my wife’s home business. I finally have a boss who understands and respects my strengths and limitations. She never asks me if I’m working hard or hardly working. She has been my close partner in this process. She knows well that, as long as I am working, we are making progress. And progress feels really nice, even if it is just one little step at a time.
Living with bipolar disorder, as I do, often means looking at things in a different way. Jobs are no exception.
I spent years (on and off) doing temp work at dozens of different companies in a handful of different US states. There was a little phrase I got to hear thousands of times. “Are you working hard or hardly working?” It’s a chirpy little thing that upper-management or the sales staff might fire off because they don’t know your name but still want to be friendly. Every time, I’d respond with a shy sort of smile before going back to whatever I was doing. It was no less than what was expected, and at least it gave me a tiny piece of the human interaction I badly needed.
And the fact is, I was always working hard. When I was assigned a project, I put everything into it. I would stay late, come in early, skip lunch or whatever needed to be done. I would ingratiate myself with coworkers and supervisors; even executive management if I had the chance. I was a super-achiever. In the work world, I was what I’d always been. I was a person with great potential who some day would be something incredible. It was something I believed to the bottom of my soul. It gave me a warm feeling as I drifted off to sleep each night.
Sometimes, the project would get extended, or my contract would get extended, or the company that contracted with my temp agency would hire me outright. Once my supervisors got a longer look, they got to see what I considered the “real” me. I might seem sluggish at work suddenly. Maybe I’d be late a few times a week with unlikely excuses. Often, I’d call in sick. I would lose track of what I was doing.
Part of me would hope I would just get fired so I could languish around at home and feel sorry for myself. Showing up and doing a good job seemed impossible and the dissonance between being a superstar and being… this, caused me such pain and despair—such a lack of hope.
I was hardly working. But in the sense that my mind was hardly functional. Was this my natural state? Was working hard and being appreciated for accomplishments just a fluke, and all in all, I was no better than a bum?
Bipolar disorder offers no synthesis, no middle-ground. It would have been impossible to think something like, “being up and being down are both my natural states, and the thing for which I can most hope is balance.”
That would have seemed a failure, a defeat, a weakness. In 1998, my thoughts about bipolar were that it was for people who were really, really sick. I thought it made people go into a rage one minute and then cry in a dark corner the next. Depression, on the other hand, made people “sad.” Maybe they could “snap out of it.” And if they couldn’t, it was probably a character defect.
My friends seemed to be accomplishing quite a bit in life. Me, however--I was hardly working; instead I was watching daytime television and drinking alone very night. And feeling utter shame and misery.
After five years of spotty employment, strained relationships, and an unhappy dalliance with alcohol, I sought treatment at last. It took many years to find a decent psychiatrist and an excellent therapist. The meds help me avoid the massive swings that would rocket me from office superman to that guy who’s emptying his desk into a box because he’d mostly quit showing up.
My therapist has helped guide me toward balance. She’s helped me to understand that I’m probably not going to be a top salesman or a CEO or the senior congressman from California. To someone with hypomanic upswings, it’s a hard thing to hear. But necessary. My unrealistic “goals” were holding me back, telling me to avoid anything I see as beneath me and keeping me chasing the most unlikely or impossible achievements. It was exhausting.
When you’re in that manic/hypomanic place, you imagine you can be the best at anything you touch. It’s crushing to hear that you have limits—very confining limits at that. And while that’s difficult, it’s much harder to reject treatment and wonder why you can’t achieve your lofty goals or struggle through another night that feels like it will never end.
I’ve learned to make more modest goals for myself. I’ve started working for my wife’s home business. I finally have a boss who understands and respects my strengths and limitations. She never asks me if I’m working hard or hardly working. She has been my close partner in this process. She knows well that, as long as I am working, we are making progress. And progress feels really nice, even if it is just one little step at a time.