I went to the psychiatrist Wednesday and received the oddest diagnosis of my life: he told me that I’ve got bipolar disorder and that I’m on the wrong medication.
For most of my life, I’ve been convinced that I’ve had major depressive disorder and nothing else. When I was a teenager, I thought I might have been bipolar (age 15-19) but my manic side gradually faded with puberty and I became much more of a depressive.
This is the first doctor or psychiatrist in the history of my life to ever tell me that I’m bipolar. At first, I thought he got his diagnosis wrong. “I can’t be bipolar, I’m not really manic. I don’t spend a lot of cash – well, not recently anyway – I don’t experience euphoric states quite often and I don’t have feelings of grandiosity. And I don’t engage in risky behaviors, you know. I don’t drink or do drugs. I’m a good girl. I can’t be bipolar.”