Alexis Aryeequaye is a junior at Rosemount High School in Rosemount, MN.
By Alexis Aryeequaye
“The weather is so bipolar!”
“Ugh, I’m acting so bipolar today.”
“I did something so weird. I’m so manic!”
I have heard variations of these phrases in passing my entire life—in school, in informal conversations with misinformed but well-meaning friends, and by family verbalizing half-baked thoughts, not realizing their impact. These words feel different since my diagnosis.
“Bipolar disorder, formerly called manic depression, is a mental health condition that causes extreme mood swings. These include emotional highs, also known as mania or hypomania, and lows, also known as depression,” according to Mayo Clinic.
Nearly 3% of young people 13-18 in America have bipolar disorder, according to the National Institute of Mental Health, but I feel alone in dealing with my disorder. No one else in my family has it, and my friends can’t relate to the struggle of riding the nightmare-ish, unenjoyable emotional rollercoaster that is my illness. When I turn to the thing that gives me the most comfort—storytelling—characters that share my struggles are almost nowhere to be found.
Even more rare are characters that display what I seek most: stability. If no displays of bipolar remission and stability exist in fiction, how am I supposed to believe they do in real life?
Two of the most prominent bipolar characters on television are Rue Bennett from Euphoria and Ian Gallagher from Shameless. Rue, a teenage girl with a drug addiction portrayed by Zendaya, gets diagnosed with bipolar disorder in the first season. Rue goes through many troubles throughout the show, struggling with her journey to sobriety and coping with her mental health issues. I deeply related to Rue’s battle with her symptoms, and for the first time since getting diagnosed, I felt seen and comforted in my struggle.
Similarly, Ian Gallagher from Shameless navigates his diagnosis in a way that feels authentic to me. From the psychosis, to the anger and strained relationships, I saw a lot of myself in his character.
While I relate to Rue and Ian, the visibility they give to bipolar disorder is only through struggle. They are not role models of recovery and stability. I want to see proof of getting better.
Representation can quite literally save the lives of people with bipolar disorder. Our world has a lot of work to do in terms of rectifying and improving bipolar representation in the media, and we deserve our stories to be told truthfully and authentically.
We never see the road to stability illustrated: the struggle to find the right medication, the long process to get diagnosed, not being taken seriously by medical professionals, the constant stress that this disorder can put on your relationships.
For me, it took being hospitalized and feeling dehumanized, wearing scrubs, cameras in my room, and no privacy.
The thought that remission is not possible continues to haunt me, as well as other people that share my disorder.
And the lack of realism in fictional depictions is only a small piece of a larger issue.
X user @CaraLisette commented, “Bipolar disorder is still a highly misunderstood and stigmatized illness. It can absolutely be disabling and completely life changing, but there are people who live with it and are able to function well. It doesn’t mean we are ‘crazy’ or ‘psycho,’ we just have an illness.”
When real people in the public eye talk about their bipolar disorder diagnosis, they are often vilified and antagonized for their struggle, or even for practicing basic self-care.
The most recent and frustrating example of this is the treatment of Chappell Roan. Roan has gone from an underground pop star to a force to be reckoned with in the music industry in just a few short months. But with new eyes watching, comes criticism. Recently, Roan has been receiving intense criticism from fans for canceling numerous shows for mental health reasons, as well as attempting to establish boundaries around her privacy and safety. The thing that baffles me about the backlash is the amount of hypocrisy.
As a society we love to say, “It’s okay to not be okay!” and to practice self-care, but when someone actually does it, they are met with nothing but judgment and scrutiny. This public attitude prevents people from speaking out publicly about their struggles, which furthers the shame and embarrassment that people with this disorder, including myself, constantly wrestle with.
It’s easy to dismiss the struggles of people with this disorder and to mark us as “crazy” or “unstable.” But our lives and stories matter, especially because they sadly tend to get cut short. According to a 2024 study conducted by the University of Michigan, people diagnosed with bipolar disorder were linked with a higher risk of an early death than smokers, due to a number of factors, including medication with negative metabolic side effects, lack of mental health support and resources, and general stigma around the disorder.
I, and the other 3% of the U.S. population who are struggling with this illness deserve to be heard and deserve to know that even though bipolar stability doesn’t exist in stories just yet, it exists in a reality that we will one day get to know.
Alexis worked with Sahan Journal Community Engagement Manager Hannah Ihekoronye, Sahan Journal Intern Reporter Elza Goffaux, and Sahan Journal News Editor Trisha Collopy to complete her story. This story was produced as part of ThreeSixty Journalism’s 2024 Op-Ed Workshop for high school youth in partnership with Sahan Journal and the Minnesota Star Tribune.
