Why I Usually Lie In Response to “How are you?”

When it comes to expressing emotions we all do it, whether we live with mental illness or not.

And if we do live with mental illness? We do it more than anyone else. Sometimes daily.

So what is this thing that we do?

We lie about how we feel.

Mostly when people ask us how we are.

We don’t lie to fool people. Or hurt people. Or because we have no control of our minds (usually).

We lie because we feel like we have to because we don’t want to have to explain the complicated truth.

We lie because we feel like we have to say what is expected of us as opposed to what is the reality, to protect who’s doing the asking.

We lie because people treat us differently when we’re honest.

It shouldn’t have to be that way, but it is.

It’s easier and safer to pretend we aren’t who we are. Everyone with mental illness wishes other people would try to understand better, or at least try to have an open mind about the fact not everyone is alike. Considering 1 in 6 adults cope with some form of mental illness at some time in their life you’d think there would be more acceptance out there. That’s like 47 million people.

But unfortunately, this is not the case.

Mental Illness Stigma is Alive and Well

If I am honest and tell someone I’m having a bad day because I’m bipolar and am just feeling “down” today I tend to get two reactions:

One being a sympathetic, “Oh, that’s too bad.” and then complete avoidance, or two, major overkill in trying to help me feel better.

The avoidance comes from the idea that being bipolar means I’m ‘screwed up’ or ‘crazy’, and the individual just doesn’t want to get involved. They automatically assume I’m unrelatable and somehow “less”. That I belong to a different class of people. And some even believe the “crazy” might come out and infect them or something. Or a person may think they have to say something profound or therapeutic in nature so they don’t say anything at all, being afraid of saying the wrong thing.

The overkill constitutes asking me to explain exactly why I feel bad and then pointing out all the wonderful things about life, ad nauseum, that I should be grateful for (as if I’m not already), and all the reasons I should be happy, no matter what is going on. And then pointing out that things just “really aren’t that bad” and that I can just “choose to be happy and not let things bother me.” These folks also tend to ask in a million ways what they can do to help, and they want a specific action they can take. And if you say there isn’t anything they can do to help they think you’re being negative, hopeless, or contrary just for the fun of it.

But the fact of the matter is that I’m really no different from anyone else aside from the fact that many times I cannot just choose to be happy and not let things bother me, or “get over it”. The truth is, there truly isn’t anything one can do to “fix” things or make me not feel the way I feel, and those of us with mental illness have accepted this and honestly do not expect anyone to “fix” us.

The fact of the matter is that when people don’t know I have a mental illness, and I say I’m having a bad day, I’m usually asked what’s wrong, and then I vent or explain what’s bothering me, then the other person typically sympathizes and reaffirms my feelings and sometimes even shares some advice or expresses that they hope I feel better soon, and then leaves it at that. Which is what we all need from our friends or family.

But when I’ve been honest and whomever I’m talking with knows I’m bipolar – the response is always laced with intentions. Either the light clicks off in their eyes and I know they are re-thinking their association with me, or I watch them stumble over words because they suddenly feel their response means more and they don’t want to say the wrong thing, or they launch into “therapy” mode and try to analyze and “fix” me.

I realize most people mean well, but people with mental illness just need to vent and talk things out sometimes just like everyone else. Not everything we feel and experience is a crisis. Not everything we think and feel is psychotic. And the fact we don’t have a smile on our face doesn’t always indicate a breakdown or depression.

Why Can’t ‘Not Unhappy’ Be Enough?

I tend not to have overt reactions to things. Meaning I’m not overly expressive. If my 5-year-old shows me a picture she has made or shares an accomplishment of hers with me in excitement, I don’t always react with the same enthusiasm she is sharing with me.

I smile at her, and I tell her what a wonderful job she has done, and I high-five her and tell her I’m proud of her, but I am not necessarily grinning ear-to-ear, clapping my hands, and raising my voice a couple octaves to express my enthusiasm and pride in her accomplishments as most moms would.

And this is not because I do not feel her excitement, nor is it because I am not adequately proud of her and excited for her.

The reason I react in this way is partly due to my medication, Lithium, but also because I am bipolar 2, meaning I maintain a more depressive state. This is not the same thing as being depressed.

What this means is that I don’t feel those snaps in my brain that cause those reactions of spontaneous laughter or smiling that other people experience, go off. I don’t get overly excited about things – good or bad. Hyperbole is not my thing (that’s bipolar 1). Which means I am a fairly quiet person, an introvert, who may not be saying much or reacting much, but whose mind is churning out thoughts and analyzing and expressing internally.

My husband asks me often, “Are you feeling okay?” I always respond, mostly, with “Yes, why?”

“Well, you don’t seem happy today. You seem down.”

“Well, I’m not unhappy, I’m fine.”

And that’s how I feel most of the time: Not Unhappy.

Most people, including my husband, do not understand this emotion. Many people think there is “happy” and “unhappy” – and that “unhappy” means sad, mad, worried, even anxious. So if I am “not unhappy” then I must be happy. And if I am happy, then why aren’t I smiling and laughing and joking and playing?

Well, that’s because I’m rarely “happy” either. I’m usually, mostly, just – “not unhappy”.

“Happy”, to me, is the same as joyous. And I have felt “joyous” many, many times – don’t get me wrong. “Not Unhappy” is just an even keel. Normal. I’m okay. Neither up nor down, just okay. And I am perfectly comfortable with being “just okay”. For me, a person living with bipolar, just okay is a good thing – trust me.

But I always have to explain this. And even after I explain it, most “normal” people don’t understand it, even still. I want to celebrate being “not unhappy” – but other people in my life don’t want to celebrate until I am “happy”, through and through.

So I lie. When asked how I am I say “I’m good.” “I’m happy.” “Things are great.”

That’s what everyone wants to hear. That is what makes everyone else feel better. It lets them off the hook, you know? They don’t have to worry about trying to figure out how to “help” me, or analyze me. They don’t have to feel guilty about their own happiness or optimism or excitement about something in their lives.

But the truth is, it’s not a competition. The truth is, most of us with mental illness are not fragile eggs about to break at any moment. And especially not because our friends are happy or excited about something – we want to celebrate their happiness too – nor because they don’t have all the answers to “fix” us.

The truth is, most of us just want to be able to have the normal conversations that friends have – venting about annoying things or about the many ins and outs of day-to-day life. We want to be able to say “I’m not unhappy” and have our friends say “Cool, glad you’re doing okay.”

Many of us would like to be able to just – Be. We wish we didn’t have to smile, or laugh at every laughable moment. And we wish that just because we don’t smile or laugh we’re not perceived to be depressed, disconnected, or disinterested. We wish we didn’t have to lie about our feelings of the day, just to make others happy or more comfortable.