I’m writing a book. I’m writing a book about bipolar disorder. I’m writing a book about bipolar disorder and addiction. I’m a bipolar addict.
These are words I haven’t spoken at the bakery where I work.
I am perfectly comfortable saying that I’m writing a book. I only work three days a week so that I have free time to write, which my coworkers know. But when people ask what the book is about, I am reticent to tell them.
I often go with the vague “It’s about mental health.” Lately I’ve been saying, “It’s kind of a memoir about music and how it relates to my life.” Which is sort of true — music is a big part of my book. But it is also a half-truth.
I work in a bakery at a gourmet grocery store, where it’s easy to blend in. The bakery is not a career for me. It’s just a side gig while I write my book. But my full name appears on the work schedule that is posted every Thursday in the break room. Anyone could Google me and find this blog.
A few weeks ago, a coworker — one of my bosses (but not The Big Boss) — did in fact Google me. He found out everything. The bipolar, the alcoholism. Everything. His only response was “You’ve led a fascinating life!” He was super impressed with my experiences, and when I told him I had tons of stories, he said he was dying to hear more, but that he wanted to wait for the book. That coworker has since moved on to another job, and I think he kept my secret to himself.
Disclosure at work wasn’t an issue at my last full-time job, where I was a producer with MTV News in New York. I went crazy there. In the winter of 2007, I experienced a major depression and went to see a psychiatrist, who put me on Prozac. The meds made me feel good. Too good. By the spring, I was in full-blown mania mode, complete with hallucinations. I went on shopping sprees and bought gifts for my coworkers.
I thought I was on a reality TV show. I thought there were cameras in my apartment watching my every move. I was blabbering at work — talking at light speed. Papers followed me everywhere. “You need a secretary,” my video editor said at one point. I had littered his edit suite with scripts, papers, and post-it notes.
I crashed one day, crying hysterically. My boss took me up to human resources and we decided I would go on medical leave. I was out for a month. I didn’t have to tell my coworkers because it was pretty obvious I had a mood disorder.
Now, I’m stable and working a stable job. I wish I could talk about my book freely at work, but I fear being fired.
So what do you think? Should I “come out” at work? Are you out at work?
