It’s Monday morning when I arrive early at my full-time office job in Toronto’s financial district — looking put together and well rested for the day ahead. Little do my colleagues know, I’ve just spent the entire weekend sleeping, leaving the confines of my dark bedroom only to answer pizza delivery, use the bathroom, or take my antidepressants. The fact is, I lead two different lives: one of a stable, ambitious person who carries out day-to-day responsibilities and one of a deeply fatigued, depressed person on the brink of suicide. Living with high-functioning mental illness often means suffering in silence under the guise of stability.
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