Hi, my name is Angelo Mateo. I live with bipolar disorder.
Today is World Bipolar Day. I wanted to take some time to honour everyone who lives with this mental illness and to share my lived experience.
Living with bipolar disorder is like living with this shadow that I’m always doing a delicate dance with. We’re forever entwined, caught in an invisible struggle while I’m here in this now and in all the possible futures while I’m still here. Everything in my life is one depression, one hypomanic, one mixed episode away from being destroyed. Life is so fragile and that is terrifying. The instability that at any moment, everything can be taken away from you.
Bipolar disorder is a type of mental health condition known as a mood disorder. It manifests itself as extreme changes in mood, thought, energy, and behaviour. Mood changes are episodic, where individuals can experience high highs (known as manic or hypomanic episodes) and low lows (known as depressive episodes). In between is euthymia, which is a sort of stability but also comes with its own challenges.
Manic/hypomanic episodes can feel great, where you feel ultra productive, creative, and excited. You can be incredibly creative and come up with so many innovative ideas. It can feel like a superpower. But it can also be dangerous, as that feeling of invincibility could lead you to make fatal decisions. You can ruin your finances, your career, and your relationships. You can slip into psychosis and lose your control on reality.
Depressive episodes bring an overwhelming and pervasive sadness and numbness. You often find yourself sleeping more than 12+ hours a day — sometimes close to 20 hours. You are constantly mentally exhausted. But there’s also a physical sluggishness, like something heavy is weighing you down. You don’t leave your bed. You don’t leave your house. You don’t eat. You don’t shower. You lose interest in your friends and family. There’s no excitement in anything. Life is just grey. You begin to hate yourself, feeling like you have no self-worth. At its worst, you begin to feel suicidal.
Sometimes, you can feel a mix of symptoms from depressive and (hypo)manic episodes, known as mixed episodes. Several of my suicide attempts have happened during these periods. It is the worst of both worlds because it has the hopelessness and despair of depression with the frenetic and unstable energy of mania. Poet Anne Sexton called it an “almost terrible energy.” Kay Redfield Jamison describes it as: “the mix of depressed mood, morbid thinking, and a ‘wired,’ agitated level of energy… It is singularly and dangerously uncomfortable.”
And even in the “in-between” euthymic phases, you are living in constant fear of your next episode, waiting for that next wave to come. Medications like lithium, lamotrigine, latuda, or seroquel (among others), come with side effects like emotional numbness, mental fogginess, memory loss, or weight changes. You have to live with the guilt from the poor decisions you made during an episode, like losing friends, jeopardizing your romantic relationship, or racking up credit card debt. You question your identity: Who is the real “you”? Euthymia can feel boring and sometimes you want to feel the sadness or you want to feel the excitement. But sometimes, that’s the cost of stability and staying alive.
Research indicates that suicide attempts are disproportionately higher for people who live with a mood disorder like bipolar. Per Gergel et al. (2024): “Globally, approximately 15–20% of people with bipolar disorder die by suicide, with 30–60% making at least one attempt, and these attempts use more lethal means than attempts among the general population… Suicide in people with bipolar disorder is associated with psychopathology and causes death, injury, and trauma, alongside wider socioeconomic costs.”
Sometimes, you might seem “high-functioning,” putting on a mask to seem “normal” and pushing through your symptoms to continue “life” while you’re in an episode. You might be able to force yourself to work, even if you’re struggling to wake up in the mornings during a depression. Or maybe you’re ultra productive during a (hypo)manic episode, even though your mind is racing and you’re unable to focus. To others, you look high-functioning, capable, “normal.” But inside, there’s a storm raging inside of you.
Bipolar disorder is a chronic mental illness. It is not curable but it is treatable. It means being responsible taking your medications and working with psychiatrists and psychotherapists. It is a lifelong struggle for stability and managing your moods. You are working with your medical team to manage your symptoms and ensure that you’re not making life-changing decisions. You are constantly seeking equilibrium.
Living with bipolar disorder shatters your self-conceptualization. The world collapses into itself and becomes infinitely smaller. It is “a sense of being only a shadow or husk of one’s former self; an unshakable hopelessness; a feeling of failure and shame; and a terrible anxiety that the illness will return.”
Over the years, I’ve learnt how to dance this delicate dance with the darkness that wants to overwhelm me. I take my meds, I go to therapy, I hang onto the people who love me enough to keep me around.
I am proud of the life that I’ve built for myself. I’ve accomplished so much, including finishing a Master’s degree and building a thriving career. I’m almost five years into a career in the Canadian public service as a Policy Analyst. Last year, I worked on Canada’s G7 presidency, which was an incredibly difficult but fulfilling experience. I’ve led complex policy files and have been recognized by senior leaders for my hard work and dedication. And now I’m proud to share my hard fought wisdom and knowledge with younger professionals looking to build careers in policy (and especially proud to mentor young Filipino-Canadian leaders).
I never thought I’d live past thirty. Living with bipolar disorder, I know the intimacy of fragility and flirting with instability. But I have also felt the love and warmth of family, friends, and my lifelong partner. Yes, I am always afraid that the darkness will return – and unfortunately, I’m sure it will. But I have also felt the magnificent light of loved ones. I live a wonderful life with my wife and best friend, taking care of our two kitties.
I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder ten years ago in January 2016. I have lived a decade with bipolar disorder. And yet, I’ve lived, thrived, achieved so much.
Today, I want to honour everyone who lives with this mental illness and struggles with it. I want you to know that you are brave to show up everyday. You are more than just your diagnosis. You can and you will achieve your dreams. You are not alone and you will live and you will thrive.
In the epilogue of her book An Unquiet Mind, Kay Redfield Jamison wrote:
So why would I want anything to do with this illness? Because I honestly believe that as a result of it I have felt more things, more deeply; had more experiences, more intensely; loved more, and been more loved; laughed more often for having cried more often; appreciated more the springs, for all the winters; worn death “as close as dungarees,” appreciated it—and life—more; seen the finest and the most terrible in people, and slowly learned the values of caring, loyalty, and seeing things through. I have seen the breadth and depth and width of my mind and heart and seen how frail they both are, and how ultimately unknowable they both are… But, always, there were those new corners and—when feeling my normal self, beholden for that self to medicine and love—I cannot imagine becoming jaded to life, because I know of those limitless corners, with their limitless views.