Emmanuel Carrère was no stranger to depression, but it was late in life that a major episode got him hospitalised and diagnosed as bipolar. In some ways it made sense of his problems, but in the midst of it, everything was broken
It’s disturbing, at almost 60 years of age, to be diagnosed with an illness that you’ve suffered from your whole life without it ever being named. Your first reaction is to protest. I protested, insisting that bipolar disorder is one of those notions that are all of a sudden in vogue and get pinned on anything and everything. Then you read what you can on the subject, you re-examine your whole life from that angle, and you realise that the shoe fits. Perfectly, even. That all your life you’ve been subject to this alternation of excitement and depression that is of course all of our lot – because all our moods change, we all have highs and lows, clear skies and dark clouds – only that there’s a group of people to which you belong, along with, it seems, 2% of the population, for whom the highs are higher and the lows lower than average, to the point that their succession becomes pathological.
However, where the description doesn’t fit at first glance has to do with the so-called “manic” phase of what until the 90s was called manic depressive psychosis. The manic state is when people strip naked on the street, or suddenly buy three Ferraris, or feverishly explain to anyone who wants to hear it that what they’ve got to do is eat guavas, lots and lots of guavas, to save humanity from a third world war. I knew a young guy who did things like that and who, once the crisis had passed, was appalled by what he’d done. He killed himself, as it seems up to 20% of people with bipolar disorder do. I felt sorry for this brilliant, desperate young guy, and never thought I suffered from the same disorder as he did. I was depressive, yes. In addition to what can be called empty periods, I’ve been through two phases of real, severe depression, the sort that lasts for several months, and during which you hardly ever get up, you can no longer accomplish the most basic tasks, and above all you can no longer imagine that things will change.
