Bittersweet

     Attention-deficit disorder. Bipolar disorder. Auditory processing disorder. And no one figured out I had any of them until my early twenties. Years of doctors, therapists, wrong diagnoses and ineffective medications until I (and the people around me) had had enough and suggested that there was something else seriously wrong with me. Within days of starting the new medications, I was a new person. A one hundred percent turnaround. I was happier, more social, and (relatively) stable. No more psychotic, out-of-control episodes induced by my bipolar brain. No more depressive episodes so severe that I would spend days just trying to get myself out of bed. I mean, I still have to fight with both of these disorders on a daily basis. Medication isn’t the be-all and end-all (I still experience episodes of depression and drunken mania, albeit less frequently) but it has made a significant difference in my life. The rest will be subjected to years of psychotherapy. I guess it’s a good thing I like my new therapist, eh? Third times a charm.  

     Some people may think that finally getting a proper diagnosis and treatment plan would be incredibly enlightening and may even provide a great sense of relief, and in some ways (or for some people), that’s true. For me though, it’s extremely bittersweet. Yes, I now know I’m not crazy or just an outright horrible person. I know that there’s still hope for me and that I will no longer be unpredictable and harrowing to the people I care about. Unfortunately, I am also more aware of what these same people have had to deal with during my “episodes” for all these years. [I hope they know how sorry I am and how guilty I feel about the way I’ve treated them, regardless of whether I could control it.] In addition, I get to spend the rest of my life taking a cocktail of drugs and fighting off these exhausting conditions because, like I said, medication doesn’t fix everything. Every day I have to fight to get motivated and stop procrastinating, to fend off the mood swings and sudden, inexplicable rage, to overcome the cognitive impairments associated with my learning disability, the list goes on and on.  And more than anything, I have to fight to prove myself, to show that I can be dependable and that I can accomplish just as much as everyone else. This is especially true since there remains a lingering stigma associated with being mentally ill (and I proved myself to be very unstable prior to my bipolar diagnosis).

     Now, getting back to the point of this blurb, I had been diagnosed with ADHD a few years before the bipolar diagnosis came to light but no one had ever really explained to me what exactly ADHD was or all of the symptoms associated with it. Last week, however, I brought up a couple concerns about bipolar disorder to my psychiatrist and he told me that those particular symptoms were most likely due to the ADHD. He then recommended a book for me to read, “Driven to Distraction.”  Before I read this book, all I had ever known (or assumed) about ADHD was that it caused restlessness, an inability to concentrate or focus, and hyperactivity in some people. After reading this book, I had a list of twenty some-odd symptoms that could be explained by ADHD alone. It was like the authors had written the book about my life. It was a freakishly accurate description of me. I also found out that many of the symptoms that had led me to believe I had bipolar disorder could also be explained by ADHD, which is probably why these disorders are often comorbid. Unfortunately, as eye-opening and self-revealing as this book was for me, it also provided a detailed description of how I have treated the people I care about and how they must have been feeling all these years. And once again, I am left feeling horrible and guilt-ridden. 

So, like I said, this diagnosis, this whole process, is extremely bittersweet.