'I can't come to work because I'm depressed': bipolar disorder is NOT a 'play-play' sickness

Rahla Xenopoulos reveals what it's really like to live with bipolar disorder

When I was younger I wanted to be a movie star. Then I got real and fantasised about being a successful career woman. But I won't ever be either of those people, I have limits.

I'm a loving wife.

I aspire every day to be a good mother.

One day I might even be a good writer.

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I teach writing.

And, if I live with care, perhaps I can be a good person.

These are things within my control.

What's not under my control is my health. I suffer from bipolar disorder and I will always suffer from bipolar disorder, it's not like flu or a high-school crush, it's with you forever. I don't want to have it lurking ominously behind my back; it's safer upfront where I can see it and we can cohabit.

It might happen that tomorrow, for no apparent reason, I wake up crying. Spend days watching as my tears fall on the black and white tiles of my bathroom floor, while my children play on screens, or eat candy, or do something I wish they weren't doing, something they wouldn't be doing if I was with them.

Being a stable, present mother. Most days I am stable, but some days I'm being a person who is sick.

Let's not kid, most mothers have been compelled on occasion to cry behind the bathroom door. We get frustrated and convinced we're doing it all wrong, so we hide away for a few minutes and cry our anxiety out. It's when you're doing it for days on end that there is a problem.

I have a problem. But, make no mistake, I'm one of the lucky ones.

I didn't actually live in this world until a doctor correctly diagnosed me at the age of 27. I kind of visited on occasion, but most of the time I was out there, in the elsewhere, being inaccessibly crazy, which is a pity, because this world is a nice place to be, it's filled with beauty and wonder.

I lead a disciplined "bipolar friendly" life. Every day I take a handful of psychiatric pills, and every day I thank God for those pills. I do yoga, visit a Chinese doctor, walk the promenade, have regular, early nights and avoid alcohol. But whatever I do, sometimes there will be migraines, chaos and inexplicable sadness.

It's kind of like food poisoning, you can't always put your finger on exactly what triggers it. But when it hits, it's unavoidably there.

A couple of weeks ago I found myself curled up on the bathroom floor. And the strange thing, after all these years fighting depression, I was still surprised. I had been so happy.

But you see, mental illness doesn't care how busy, happy, rich or poor you are. When it decides to strike, it strikes with impunity. I can't do anything when that happens, just exist, in an abyss of sadness, waiting the desperation out.

Now, here's a funny thing, I've been fighting this illness all my life. I've written a book, given countless talks and interviews about living with the condition, but still, when I get depressed, I get that awkward feeling where I wish I had a "physical, more worthy" illness. I still wish I could say, "I can't come to the parent teachers' meeting because I have... flu."

Because flu is regarded as a legitimate illness. You can see flu, like the way you can see the cast on a broken arm. And in the world in which we live, we require concrete evidence of everything; love, wealth, beauty, and yes, illness. If we don't have evidence we struggle to believe. When we don't believe, we struggle to care.

block_quotes_start We still think mental illness is the 'play-play' sickness. For most people saying, 'I can't come to work because I'm depressed,' could mean losing a job block_quotes_end

And yes, we still struggle to care for our mentally ill. We still think mental illness is the "play-play" sickness. For most people saying, "I can't come to work because I'm depressed," could mean losing a job, medical aid cover or the faith of a family.

Ignorance is the greatest enemy of illness. We learned that with HIV. The penny hasn't quite dropped with mental illness. We still post pictures on Facebook telling sufferers that "medicine is drugs" and "trees are medicine".

Trees are beautiful, they provide oxygen and shade, but no, they don't actually cure illness, bummer hey? Wouldn't it be cool if every time you felt sick you could hug a tree instead of visiting the doctor?

I have lists of stupid things intelligent people have said to me, for example, "Everyone has bipolar disorder, we all have up days and down days, I know how you're feeling."

Yup, if you knew how I was feeling you wouldn't say something so ignorant because if we all had days where we got as up or as down as I am, the world would be like the inside of Donald Trump's brain on crack.

We still tell people to pull up their socks. To go for a run and think about people whose lives are harder than their own. Here's the thing, when you're depressed, you cannot think and most of the time you cannot leave your house.

But for all the stupid things people have said, I've got a list of intuitively kind things people have done. Friends who have lifted my children without me asking, delivered flowers and food at my house knowing I would probably be too sad to call and thank them.

My bestie who calls every day from London leaving a message that says, "I love you, you're brave and this will pass."

What I've learnt is that human beings might build iPhones, create art and wars, but in the end, what we do best is care for one another. That's what we want to do; what most of us are hard-wired to do is love one another. Being sick has taught me that.

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I sometimes hear people saying they are grateful they had an illness and that they learnt so much from being sick.

I'm not as evolved as those people, I cannot be grateful for the countless desolate hours lost to tears. I believe we learn from university and books.

But perhaps what sickness has given me is a consciousness of life. A gratitude for the seemingly mundane. When my husband, children and dogs are all spilling out of our couch in front of the fire I look at them and think, life is kind to give us these moments of laughter and intimacy.

When I am teetering in an awkward yoga position I sometimes pause and think, even if it tips over in a studio full of cool yogis, it is with kindness that my body has brought me here.

I am blessed that people open their hearts in my writing workshops. And even when my pen refuses to produce, as disappointed as I am with my brain for not willingly writing, I have to be grateful that we are here together, my heart, brain and self, aligned and in the same unpredictable, loopy, beautiful world, where every new day is a miracle.

• Rahla Xenopoulos is the author of the novels 'Tribe' and 'Bubbles', and 'A Memoir of Love and Madness: Living with Bipolar Disorder'