Why is bipolar disorder difficult to recognize?
I am both a person with a developmental disorder and a person with bipolar disorder.
I believe I developed bipolar disorder as a secondary condition to my developmental disabilities around the age of 20. Aspiring to be an actor, I was immersed in studying acting, but of course, I couldn’t earn a living as an actor, so I supported myself with part-time jobs.
The first symptoms I felt were depressive symptoms.
I felt inexplicably down, and gradually became unable to leave the house. If I had to describe this “feeling of depression,” it was like a car that wouldn’t accelerate no matter how hard I pressed the accelerator. Even when I floored it, I only got hollow responses like ‘clunk’ or “thud,” and the car wouldn’t speed up.
The response that should naturally come back is completely absent, leaving only a hollow sensation radiating through my feet and throughout my entire body. Then comes the confusion of “Why?”, followed by overwhelming anxiety and fear.
For me, this “experience of depression” became this sensation of “a car that won’t accelerate no matter how hard you press the accelerator,” a feeling that has remained unchanged and stayed with me ever since.
Let me return to the time when I was young. I couldn’t keep my part-time job anymore, and eventually, I couldn’t even get out of bed.
Clearly, “this is a situation where help is needed,” I can think that now. But back then, I didn’t have enough knowledge to explain my situation, nor did I possess the inner world that could help me abstract and indirectly understand the phenomenon.
The depressive period would improve after a few months, followed by a gradual, flat phase. During this time, I could function almost normally. Then, in random cycles, periods of elevated mood, or “mania,” would arrive.
In my case, these mood swings functioned like a mechanism that dulled my sense of urgency—my awareness that the problems I faced were serious and required action, like going to the hospital for treatment.
I believe this is one of the frightening aspects of bipolar disorder.
Even when I’m incredibly exhausted, unable to function socially, and desperately needing help, the flat periods and manic episodes wrap that exhaustion and sense of crisis in an optimistic feeling of “Oh well, it’s fine.”
Moreover, I find it harder to recognize mania than depression. While people can acknowledge depression, admitting to mania—admitting their mood is abnormally elevated—is difficult. That makes sense. The person themselves thinks, “I’m in the best possible condition.”
Compounded by the psychological urge to make up for lost time – thinking, “I’ve been down for so long, I need to catch up” – it becomes extremely difficult to acknowledge one’s own manic state.
For these reasons, I could only muster a vague awareness that “I must have a constitution prone to depression.” Thus, I lived my life until age 38, accumulating countless failures brought on by bipolar disorder.
The era I lived in was one where developmental disorders were still far from widely recognized.
I sometimes honestly envy the next generation who will lead the future.
They have access to various information to help reduce their burden,
and there are voices in society advocating at least for the need to understand people with developmental disorders.
However, no matter how abundant the information becomes, no matter how much understanding of those with developmental disorders advances, the reality that they are constantly exposed to high levels of social stress will likely persist. Therefore, the risk of developing secondary disorders is a heavy burden carried by many individuals with developmental disorders.
The term “secondary disorder”
can be explained endlessly in hindsight.
But for me back then,
The awareness that I needed help never fully formed.
That, I think, was the quietest,
and most terrifying aspect
of bipolar disorder.
If the words I leave here now
can shorten someone’s journey, even just a little,
that would be enough.
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