Congrats, You’re Bipolar. Now What?
I was still me, regardless of labels.
On December 30, 2019, I sat in my psychiatrist’s office riddled with anxiety. I always found it ironic how sitting in a place meant to help my anxiety triggered it more.
I suffered a few difficult months of confusing and alarming behavior. Just two days before the appointment, I had one of my not-so-proud moments thanks to my mental health. I ended up getting into an argument with my boyfriend — one that I started. I ended up getting angry over something insignificant and started throwing things around the living room. This is not the first time I had a fit of rage like this, but this time I saw his face. He looked bewildered and I felt my entire relationship waiver.
And that’s when I knew something needed to change quick.
After what seemed like hours, my psychiatrist’s physician assistant retrieved me from the waiting room. I walked back to his office knowing that I had to face the truth. I could no longer hide behind the old “everything’s fine” facade.
I let the physician assistant know about my symptoms. I let him know about my mood swings. I let him know about my sudden bursts of energy. I let him know about my rage and anger and crying spells. I started breaking down crying when I told him all of this.
He handed me a tissue and let me wipe my eyes. And then he asked me the question I subconsciously feared:
“Have you ever been evaluated for Bipolar Disorder?”
I shook my head no and he promptly handed me a piece of paper titled the “Mood Disorder Questionnaire.” I read through the symptoms and so many fit.
Racing thoughts? Yep. Periods of highs and lows? You got it. Impulsive behavior? Oh hell yes. Family history? I think so…
That morning, I left the psychiatrist’s office with a prescription for an atypical anti-psychotic and the diagnosis of a serious mental illness.
The diagnosis felt like, “Congrats, you’re bipolar!” and my response was, “Now what?”
I felt lost and confused. There were no real answers why it took more than 15 years to diagnose me with a mood disorder. There were no answers from my psychiatrist’s office on how I could cope with having a serious mental illness.
So I did what any tech savvy millennial would do: take my research to the Internet.
My research checked a lot of boxes for me. I determined I likely had Bipolar disorder Type II — the type with milder phases of mania, called hypomania.
I learned this is why I felt the way I did for so long. The Bipolar disorder was the source of my anger and rage. It was the reason why I had failed relationships and already have a bankruptcy under my belt. Bipolar disorder is why I’ve been so tired for so long and have had so many mood swings.
But the greatest thing I realized?
I was still me, regardless of labels. I am still a daughter, girlfriend, and employee. I am still who I was before I gained a label, except now I have valuable information on how I can make myself better. I can learn how to feel better.
It’s been almost two months since my diagnosis, and while I’m still trying to stabilize my moods, I am accepting of my label. After all, I am still me.
