So last night I posed the question of whether or not I’m really and truly bipolar to my Facebook support group, asking them to tell me honestly if I was full of shit for thinking even a little bit that I might—just might—not be.
The reaction was swift and decisive. “Are you freaking kidding??!!” was the general consensus. My friends went on to elaborate on the ridiculousness of my hypothetical existential crisis, shooting my theories down with the deadly accuracy of a trained sniper. Seven out of nine active members responded, and all seven told me I was, indeed, FOS. One of them even suggested I let my p-doc know what I’ve been thinking.
That’s an immediate “oh HELL no”. He’s the last person on earth I’d want to discuss this idea with. If my BFFs won’t back me up on this one, he’ll probably think I’m flat-out delusional. And I don’t want him thinking along those lines, because I don’t want to go “downstairs”. One of my goals in life is to get through the rest of it without going “downstairs”. (Yes, I’m serious…..”downstairs” is a scary place.)
But, I digress. Another of my chicas was a bit more diplomatic, and asked me to consider that this stinkin’ thinkin’ might be the sign of what she calls a ‘medicated mania’, straining to break free and ruin me all over again. “It’s like the piece of string on your sweater that practically begs you to tug on it, and when you do, the whole thing unravels,” went the poetic reply.
All in all, I got the distinct feeling that perhaps my renewed hope of being misdiagnosed is a wee bit unrealistic. You know how you go through periods where you get a reprieve from a bad thing that you thought you’d accepted, and it makes you think everything’s OK after all? As much as I hate to admit it, I think that’s what may have happened here…..I was sick for a long time, then I got better and stayed better, and that gave me the false belief that it was over.
It’s not completely outside the realm of possibility. A lucky few go through the rest of their lives without ever having another mood episode. Maybe I’ve just been toying with the idea of being “fixed” because it’s what I’d like to believe will happen to me. But as my partners-in-crime pointed out, bringing my illness under control hasn’t been easy, and I have a tendency to get ahead of myself and forget that I really haven’t been stable for very long.
It’s good to have friends who’ve been there, done that, and got the empty prescription bottles to prove it. 🙂