diagnosed

ten days ago, I parked Pearl in a parking lot behind an abandoned store. I sipped on a Sonic strawberry limeade and ate a few fries as I pulled my velvety soft journal from my purse. then I wrote this.

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the day I "became" bipolar

it was a Wednesday -- Earth Day; a full moon; April 22, 2020, for those who value dates. I woke up startled by sunshine, fearing that I was late to work due to oversleeping. my alarm had been quietly sounding for only two minutes, so I turned it off and crawled back into bed. it was a work night that I spent at my partner's, and he actually had to wake up early, too. this was an interaction type that we hadn't had in a while.

I snuggled him awake, reveling in the stark contrast of my alertness and his sleepiness. I left moments after to drive home. I exercised briefly, showered quickly, and enjoyed breakfast slowly. then I went to work.

over the course of the day, I clicked the Get Next button for a combined time of at least 93 minutes. in that time, I read emails, the last 100 pages of a book, and articles about the world we live in now. I did work though, and I did learn. and then I sat in my car in the parking lot and "became" bipolar. that's how getting the official diagnosis felt.

the hour with the psychiatrist felt like a class about myself. at one point, she even asked me, "with your degree in psychology, what do you think would be your diagnosis?"

I didn't tell her this, but what I think about it is I've felt pain for five years since I first walked into a mentor's office on campus and told her, "I don't feel okay. I think I'm bipolar," and she said I wasn't. I trusted her to help me, and I clung to the shred of hope that she was trying to do that. now I don't think she was. I think she was wrong to not encourage me to seek proper help.

instead I told my psychiatrist, "well I don't like to use my education to think about my experience, but I think cyclothymia." I've been growing an acceptance for that, and I'd grown to claim it as mine.

she responded, "what about bipolar?"

and it hit me -- my body felt physically heavy. we went through a mood disorder test then, specifically for bipolar, and I scored high (typical me, 100 percent).

we spent the next 19 minutes discussing medication options and next steps, and I felt different. I felt broken. I felt like I didn't know much, not even myself.

how can I trust that I know myself?

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in the time that passed between then and now, I've been prescribed two different medications. the first, I grew uncomfortable with the idea before I even took it. the second, I've taken for three days. in those three days, I've experienced common side effects, including intense dizziness and drowsiness, increased anxiety (to the point of sweating and gasping for air, for no apparent reason), and a sadness that is continuously growing as if my depressive symptoms aren't already enough.

I have only told nine people (before this post). I have not fully accepted it.

I have googled ideas for what my partner should know about my diagnosis... and promptly placed my phone on the floor and crawled into bed after reading the first link's idea that nobody with bipolar disorder can be in a healthy, committed relationship (a disgusting lie). I have thought about not being public with my diagnosis because I don't want to feel the sickness of the stigma strangle me when I'm strolling down the street.

but here I am, telling my truth, because I am not my disorder. I am a woman with a huge heart and hopes to change my corner of the world. I am an academic who misses classrooms and textbooks more than anything. I am a writer who journals at work when inspiration strikes. I am far too committed to drinking root beer and lemonade whenever I want, and eating Mexican food as often as possible. I am an avid fan of fitness and whole person health. I am a vegetarian for the planet and my health. I am a person who actively works to be better than I was yesterday -- through sobriety, therapy, self-reflection, networking, and more. I am a friend who listens and laughs with my people, regardless of how many tens or hundreds or thousands of miles away they are. I am a girlfriend who is in the only healthy relationship that I have ever had. 

I am not my disorder, and I am not perpetuating the stigma that comes with it by hiding my truth.

I have bipolar disorder, and nobody gets to treat me any differently because of it.