I’ve always thought I was a good employee: I do good work, on time, and people generally like working with me. I say “generally” because at times in the past I’ve been a moody procrastinator who resists being told what to do. I’ve also burst into tears when given negative feedback from a boss and cursed at a coworker in front of several of our colleagues. Am I losing credibility here?

Many times I've complained that my family doesn't really understand mental illness.  They don't see the difference between depression and being sad, and even those who visited me in the hospital separated my condition from the severity of my surroundings. As hard as I've tried to get my relations to understand my illness, it's even more difficult to get them to see the signs of severe depression in others.

Maintaining all relationships is difficult.  Dating is even harder.  But I think it takes a special kind of person to begin a relationship with a person who has a mental illness.  This fact hit home for me this weekend when I adopted a cat.   You might not immediately see the parallel between getting a pet and, say, dating someone with bipolar.  However, I adopted a cat who may have heart disease and it was a gut-wrenching decision.

This week I might see my ex-boyfriend, Grant. Everyone has an ex like Grant, you know, the guy you thought would be The One, who just turned out to be The One That Got Away.

Last week's post on disclosing mental illness at work was very popular, so I decided to continue the topic this week.  In my video blog, I talk about telling coworkers about your mental illness and the benefits that can come from having support systems in the workplace.

My coworker Ricky is a photographer, and I asked him to take some pictures for my personal blog. Upon hearing its name he said, “You’re bipolar? Cool." Ricky is the kind of person who appreciates perceived shortcomings as character building. And he likes people with a lot of character.

During my senior year at Yale, I had what I now consider a manic episode. I'd gotten 2-4 hours of sleep for nights in a row and I was still flying high. I was in a terrific mood and got lots of work done on my senior thesis and a play I was producing. I felt invigorated! Then, one night, I crashed. I couldn't sleep. One night, I was so tired I cried and spent a few weeks just feeling "off". I never mentioned it to anyone, least of all my Dad, still reeling from my Mom’s death a year before.