On Christmas mornings, my siblings and I would rush downstairs, and be greeted by my mother’s smiling face. But we were always slightly uneasy–we didn’t know whether our mother was truly happy for the occasion, or if her smiles were a sign of a hard depression yet to come. It was an uncertainty through which we all suffered together for a long time. It became normal. Some years she would watch us open presents and even invite family for a huge dinner made from scratch; other years, she didn’t get out of bed.
Years later, we found out she suffered through most of her adult life from untreated bipolar affective disorder. The curious thing we came to realize is just how manic euphoria can present itself as outward happiness. But knowing she had a problem—an unknown problem that seemingly ate away at her through our entire lifetimes—we could never truly enjoy her happy times, because we were unsure if they were genuine moments, or just part of the cycle.



