I love being able to say that.
Not that I love having bipolar 1, just that I can finally talk about it with no shame or embarrassment.
You see, throughout my career I never said a word. I drank cups of concrete, kept a stiff upper lip, and just soldiered on.
So I know what it’s like to be driven by anxiety so strong I sacrificed countless weekends to needless work; to be so sleep deprived, my keyboard resembled a soft downy pillow; and to perform brilliantly in a boardroom one minute, only to find myself crying quietly in a toilet cubicle the next.
That said, I’m a fairly normal old fart with two magnificent daughters, a happy and long marriage, a nice house, and a dog named Mac.
My point is that suffering from depression or anxiety doesn’t mean you are weak or that you will be unsuccessful. If anything, it may mean you strive a little harder.
Better still, most mental illnesses can be beaten by seeking professional help. And the quicker the better. You’d do it with a physical illness, so why not a mental one?
Keeping problems to yourself is sheer bloody-minded stupidity. And you can take that from an expert.
