The diagnosis…dant dant da!!!

I went on for months feeling depressed and out of control all at the same time.  Add some anxiety and a little alcohol self-medicating and you got yourself a crazy cocktail.

But I digress.   I know I need to talk to someone so I scheduled a therapist appointment through my insurance carrier (which I recommend all women do if they feel out of sorts post baby).  As part of the intake process and in order to get anti-depressants I had to meet with their psychiatrist.  I’ve never been to a psychiatrist and had no idea what to expect.

So it all began with me sitting across the desk from this very nice man who appeared to be in his late 60s or early 70s and was either Egyptian or Indian.  That’s all I could focus on – where was this guy from?  He has a diploma for medical school on the wall but that’s from SUNY.  His accent…what kind of accent did he have?  I can’t place it. His name is so innocuous.  Why can’t I figure out where this guy was from?

Oh what?  I’m sorry, I missed what you were saying.  Yeah, the appointment went something like that.  He asked my a series of questions:

  • Yes I do have periods of prolonged sleep followed by unexplained insomnia.
  • Yes I do have anxiety that is heightened by stress
  • Yes I do have impulsive activity – including wild spending sprees and risky sexual behavior.
  • Yes I do have racing thoughts and speak very quickly
  • Yes I have had overly long periods of sadness
  • Yes I am extremely irritable.

OK, I know what you’re thinking – this girl is a mess! And while you’re not wrong, I thought everyone experienced this.  I was just a little more depressed then normal and need something to jump start myself so I can take care of B.

Well apparently this doctor wants to be thorough and gives me a real diagnosis – Bipolar.  38 years old, been like this my whole life and now you’re telling me I’m bipolar?  You mean I could have been working on this all along?

Good grief…

Until tomorrow…

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