And I DO consider all of you my friends. Please don't think I dislike any of you. You're all dear to me.
I spent the last several weeks being rather hypomanic. Don't believe the common misconception that the meds ease all symptoms and "outbreaks." Really, there's always going to be a time when you're back to your old, rather insane self. The meds make it less common, but don't end it entirely.
I started several dozen projects, and I think only one got to the "half-done" phase. After all, I was going to finish it later, after I handled all of the other cool things I was going to do. Life was awesome, except for the fact that other human beings were distracting and annoying. I had so much to do, and they were all so very far behind me I couldn't bother to wait for them to catch up.
Please, don't ask me to explain. I can't. I'm just telling the truth. No excuses. I get very, very short-tempered and impatient for no real discernible reason. "I'll get to them later" is what I say about my friends, and, "I'll kill them later" is what I say about virtually everyone else.
Now, there's a reason I explain all of this, and it's the sole purpose of this entry: I realized I am exactly what my most recent psychiatrist says I am: Bipolar II.
"What? But, Justin, you proudly proclaim you're crazy on your profile page! Why would you say you just realized you're crazy?"
Well, dear reader, you are correct. I've had three different psychiatrists and three different diagnoses in my life. I've been labeled: Schizophrenic; Psychotic, Not Otherwise Specified; and Bipolar II. The first two also said, "Oh, and you're a little depressed. Take these for that, and we'll worry about it later."
I smiled and nodded and (mostly) took my Pills through all of it, and I knew something was wrong, but . . . I thought they were wrong every time. I never looked into what they said was wrong with me, and I never really talked with them at all. I just took my Pills and reported if 1) I became abnormally depressed, and / or 2) I became overly paranoid. Since these were the things I felt were "wrong" with me, I didn't need to report anything else. To hell with the psychiatrists! What do they know, right?
Well, I had an eye-opening experience this time. I'm familiar with the notion that the Pills aren't a perfect cure, but previously I would fight bouts of depression or random paranoia. This time, I actually found myself telling people, "I don't know what it is, but I finally feel normal again. I'm not moving through a fog," and off I would bound: invulnerable, indefatigable, rather incoherent, and very intolerant.
Well, I wasn't fooled for long, and my therapist certainly wasn't. The psychiatrist? In an odd coincidence, I was between sessions and she saw nothing (I go two months at a time without seeing her, and then it's only for twenty minutes, so her missing this is fairly likely and "odd coincidence" was sarcasm).
My therapist suggested I read up on "hypomania," and Bipolar Disorders in general. I did.
Damn. Someone described me perfectly without ever having met me. People I've never met gave testimonials that sounded like I'd said them.
And two previous diagnoses that focused on depression and psychotic inclinations? Very, very common. Bipolar people are rarely correctly diagnosed when they first see a psychiatrist. It normally takes a few years. I just got very, very lucky in the diagnoses they chose. You see, anti-psychotics are ALSO what they prescribe to tone down manic episodes, and, of course, anti-depressants are what they prescribe to stave off the depressive end of the spectrum (although, in fairness, it's not really a "spectrum" with me, and that's kind of why they call it "Bipolar"). I was on the right Pills all along, just not diagnosed correctly.
My present psychiatrist, she's clever. A little too "into" some cheesy self-help gurus, but a clever lady all the same.
Sadly, KNOWING what was happening didn't make it any less real or provide any solution to the immediate problem. I just kinda "Enjoyed the Storm."
After all, I hate to say it, but it DID feel nice to be my old self again . . .
Peace, kats and kittens. Tomorrow, I promise to read all about your lives. I've missed you all.