Yes, I went to a small private high school and a small private university.
Yes, I worked my ass off to make straight As and graduated summa cum laude.
Yes, I was a successful web developer in the Bay Area.
Yes, I was dedicated to my work and I was very good at it.
And yes, my talent was appreciated by both my mentors and peers, and everyone agreed that I had a bright future in Silicon Valley.
But no, I wasn't happy.
I had done everything right and had reached the end of a long and difficult road. I was finally making enough to pay back my student loans and save money while living comfortably and sharing expenses with my live-in boyfriend. Here was supposed to be my reward for the years of stress and work, of living a type-A lifestyle while feeling internally like a type-B personality. When all is said and done, the only explanation that feels true is that I got tired.
Yes, I became severely depressed.
Yes, I left my job and didn't seriously pursue another.
Yes, I allowed myself to become entirely dependent on a man to support me financially.
Yes, I isolated myself from my friends and family.
And yes, I went crazy.
Yes, I had a psychotic break.
Yes, I was hospitalized in a psychiatric ward.
Yes, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.
I was prescribed medication after medication, trying different dosages and combinations to find the right cocktail that would work for me. I was starting to feel better for just a few weeks before my mood took a nosedive. I spent months lying on the couch watching Netflix, with daily bouts of crying. I was deeply depressed and questioning everything about my life, my self, my world. I could see no way out of this misery. I felt as though all the best and most exciting moments of my life were over, and now I was a different person, a broken person of no real value to the world. I did not attempt suicide, but I contemplated it more than I ever had before.
Somehow I made it though the worst part. Slowly things started getting better. And when I say slowly I mean sloooooowly.
Now I've hit a wall because I don't know how to step back out into the world, especially here in the Bay Area. I don't know how to face people, strangers and friends alike. I feel like I would have to explain myself, defend myself against their judgment. Here it seems that everyone I know is starting their own business, or working on a bunch of side projects, going to conventions and constantly networking. And here I am: unemployed for almost two years with no end in sight, barely leaving the house and doing nothing of value with my time. How dare I? What is wrong with me?
I ask myself these things all the time. I have come up with some answers but so far I have been afraid to express them. There are realities about who I am that I have a hard time accepting. How can I expect others to accept me when I judge myself so harshly?
Yes, I am unemployed.
No, I am not planning to get a job anytime soon, and I'm not sure if I will ever work a full-time job again.
Yes, I have a real disability that affects my ability to work.
No, it is not because I'm lazy.
Yes, I am a homemaker.
No, I don't want kids, at least not in the foreseeable future.
Yes, I am financially supported by my loving boyfriend.
No, I am not taking advantage of him.
Someday I hope to be able to declare these facts, and to truly believe them without shame. I hope to be comfortable with my place in life, and confident about who I am as my circumstances change. I hope that I will not feel the need to hide.
