How I Felt When I Was Diagnosed Bipolar

Of course, I was bipolar before I was diagnosed. But I didn't know that.

So it came as a rather nasty shock to me when I was told by a psychiatrist that I was manic depressive. The bipolar diagnosis wasn't exactly the words of comfort I hoped to hear and it came on top of a rather harrowing two weeks in which I had managed to make a hash of my life, put my job at risk, worry my family, and annoy my friends.

To be fair, for the first ten minutes or so after the diagnosis, I felt pretty relieved. It was great to know that things weren't my fault. I didn't have to feel as ashamed for all of the things I had done in the last two weeks.

But then the reality started sinking in. I still had to leave the psychiatrist's office and face all those people who were expecting something of me. And I was still drained and traumatised over the events that had landed me at the psychiatrist.

At that point, all my problems seemed too horrible to solve. I didn't know how to solve any problems. In fact, I could barely think well enough to dress and reach the psychiatrist's office, much less come up with solutions to any of my problems. I was numb, I was shell shocked, I was tired, and I wanted the whole mess to go away. I wanted to close my eyes, and if somebody else sorted everything out for me, that was fine.

That was only for the everyday things I needed to sort out. I also now had to deal with the stigma of a diagnosis of being bipolar. What would people say? How would my friends treat me? What would people at work say? As if I didn't have enough on my plate already. I felt that just when it couldn't get any worse, it did.

I was glad for the medication though. If you get medication, you must be sick, right? And won't the bipolar medication make things better. At that point, I still didn't understand that being manic depressive was for life. I expected that things would be back to normal in a month or so. In a way, the bipolar medication was a bit of a talisman. By the time I finished my course of medication, I'd have sorted out my problems and I would be fine and this would be done with. It was a bit like having my appendix taken out. It would be over soon, but it would be over.

I couldn't cope with the idea that I had a serious problem.

In hindsight, I realised that the period just before being diagnosed was the worst period. I didn't know what was going on and I was confused and terrified. While I might not have understood the implications of being diagnosed as manic depressive, at least I got a handle on what was wrong, a list of things to look our for, and a vocabulary to describe what was happening. It's much worse when you don't know and can't describe what you are going through.