Bipolar II

I did a thing today. A thing that I didn't want to do. A thing that I have been putting off for a long time. And a thing I am now kicking myself for not doing sooner.

I went to a psychiatrist today.

I sat in the chair in her little office. Drawings on the wall from her small child, an old beanie baby on her desk that was rainbow with a peace sign, and a framed copy of her masters degree hung on the wall behind her. So when you talk to her you are reminded of her medical degree, her knowledge on this subject, and her ability to execute in her field.

Her first question got me. "So tell me why you're here."

Not really a question. A command? No, she didn't asset herself in that way. Just a simple way to start things off.

I was eerily aware of my fingers twisting my rings around and around. My foot thumping against the ground. My eyes shifting around because making eye contact has become hard for me.

When filling out the paper work in the lobby I checked almost every single box. Every. One.

About what kind of feelings I experience.

"Do you have trouble sleeping?" Check.
"Do you sleep too much?" Check.
"Do your thoughts race?" Check.
"Do your feet have trouble staying still?" Check.
Etc.

It was two and a half pages front and back. Most of the boxes were checked.

My inner monologue raced, thinking "She's going to think I'm making this up. There's no way someone feels all these things."

But I read the list over again. And every box that was checked was truthful.

I have this habit of withholding information, whether it is fear of judgment from my peers or whatever who knows... But I only tell people half of what is going on. Ryan is the only person who really gets one hundred percent real life Shayla. And Alyssa. But she is also my person. I have two people.

Regardless, the list was long.

We start to converse and I let it all out, the word vomit didn't seem to end. "Oh, you want to hear about that thing that happened when I was five? HERE YOU GO. TAKE IT. PLEASE, JUST TAKE IT."

Things that I knew weren't relevant, she got to hear about it. More than I've told my therapist. More than I've told any counselor, friend, confidant, anyone who would listen. I didn't tell them all of this. My entire medical history. Every medication I've taken. I just let it all out. And... I still don't know how I feel about it. After examining my medical history, listening to my life story, observing my habits, getting a VERY thorough work up from my primary care doctor...

She stacked her papers, Flipped through them once more, observing her notes she jot down as my vomit spewed.

"Well. From what you've told me I'm going to diagnose you with Bipolar disorder. I don't mean any offense by that."

Offense?
"Umm... No offense taken?"
"We are working on it, but there is still this weird stigma about bipolar disorder."
"Please just... Keep going."
"If I had to narrow it down I would say Bipolar II. However, we have a lot of work to do to really narrow it down. But you don't seem to get too high with your mania, staying up twelve days at a time, etc.
"It's kind of like a spectrum, and you are high functioning. You graduated high school. You can hold a job. You function, as well as you can. But everything you've told me is all tied into this diagnosis."

She went through everything I said. SHE ACTUALLY LISTENED. She tied everything back together. It was... So refreshing.