I’m sure these experiences aren’t limited to me, I have no idea whether my reactions are representative.
When I was diagnosed with bipolar ii, literally everyone I told said, that’s good, it’s manageable. And then bipolar I happened and I got a slight variation on that and so I worked out how to preempt it by saying it myself instead. It’s true, it’s kind … and it truly, kindly attempts to bypass grief and treatment and go directly to recovery. As well intentioned as it is, it’s a kinda blithe invalidation of so many things.
I don’t know if I’ve learned enough from it, or even whether it’s necessary, but I’ve changed my own approach. I just make sure I acknowledge whatever the problem is, before I get all codependent-empath and try to fix it.
This last diagnosis didn’t freak me out. It reminded me again that I am very alone with a serious thing. Now, I knew that already and on the whole, I’ve got it sorted in my mind. Just … ag … grief. And I don’t mean I’m alone in the world, just in my house.
Increasing meds feels a lot like a detox. My shrink warned me I was heading into a rough patch now. It’s always ok when it’s finite. Crap like the inside of my eyelids itching, plus all the sudden hectic shit moods of the mixed episode … well argh. Just argh.
And it breaks my heart, that it took till age 44 to get diagnosed with mixed episodes, because now, in the throes of wanting to violently … eh nevermind … I am haunted by previous instances and I can’t even write about it properly because gnnnnnnnnnnng arrrrghhhhhhfuckit. It makes pms look stupid. Actually it makes blind rage and confusion look stupid. It’s like being filled with a howling abyss while teetering on the edge of the abyss.
This stuff is tough. I guess neurotypical people understandably assume we experience moods to the same extent they do. I like the graph at the top of this post, it illustrates it nicely.