Bringing Mae Flowers

I almost impulse bought a house.

I never thought that would be a sentence I would say, but here we are. It started several weeks ago when I became curious about a house for sale in my neighborhood. What started as casual curiosity rapidly spiraled into an obsession. I stated checking local listings several times a day, I spend hours calculating and recalculating mortgage payments, and closing costs, and day dreamed about the new life I would have constantly. I even went through the entire process of getting a pre-approval and going under contract before my anxiety kicked in. It was a full month of chaos that ended with 2 new prescriptions and a new diagnosis: bipolar disorder.

In hindsight it was obvious.

It went overlooked for so long because I am surrounded by other neurodivergents. Everyone I know has one of the 3 A’s: Autism, Anxiety, or ADHD, so it’s safe to say that I don’t know what “normal” human behavior looks like. Impulsive decisions that resulted in major life changes was a normal part of my childhood, and random hyperfocus fixations are the norm in my friend’s group chat. Not a single person in my life questioned the suddenness or intensity of my house search. That alone should have been a sign.

I thought I was normal because I could mask.

Growing up I was taught to hide my negative emotions. This resulted in my hiding my depression, swallowing my anger, and gaslighting my anxiety. For years I managed to hide the times I was losing control. I kept going to work, going to school, making good grades, and keeping my “bad” feeling my own problem. I was expected to be the “cheerful” daughter, the “reasonable” sister, and the “responsible” granddaughter, the “put-together” friend. And I was- when I was. But when I wasn’t, I was a full-blown disaster.

I was filled with fear.

Depression was a near-constant companion I had since childhood. I was used to melancholy, and handled it well. It was when the PNES (pseudo non-epileptic seizures) started that self-hatred set in. When I first started having seizures, I was scared. Then, when it became clear the problem was linked to my mental health, I was ashamed. On the outside, I joked and made light of them, but the truth was- I hated my mind and body. How could I be so pathetic that my brain would fake seizures? During those episodes I’d be filled inexplicable, anxious energy that buzzed through my veins like electricity. The only was I could release it was to allow my body to spasm, shake, and convulse until the battery was drained and ready to recharge. Then, after months of these violent external displays of my internal chaos, it would all just stop. I never knew when they would return, or how long these episodes would last, and that terrified me more than I wanted to admit.

I didn’t know what bipolar disorder really was.

I didn’t understand what bipolar disorder actually looked like. I knew my great-grandfather was diagnosed with “manic depression” (an outdated term for bipolar), and that it might run in the family. That’s all I knew. My grandfather (his only living son) was not close to him, and he died when I was young. No one else in the family was diagnosed until me, so I had no real-life reference. I only knew what popular media showed. Most people think bipolar episodes are characterized by sudden and violent mood swings, and crazy, uncontrollable behavior. Even though I knew the stereotypes were exaggerated, I’m ashamed to admit that I believed many of them. Until I was diagnosed, I didn’t realize the many forms bipolar disorder and manic episodes could take. If I did, I would have been diagnosed sooner.

But now I do know all the bad.

Now I know that “mania” can episodes of euphoric happiness and obsessive energy, but that they can also be “mixed” with depressive episodes. I now know that up to half of all people diagnosed with bipolar 1 or 2 have both manic and depressive symptoms at the same time. I now know that some research indicates that there links between bipolar disorder and PNES. I know the suicide rate of people with bipolar, and the heightened risk of mixed episodes. I know that strain the symptoms have on relationships, the issues it can cause with work, and I the stigma I’ll face if I chose to tell others of my diagnosis. I have already experienced a lot of the bad.

But I also know the good parts.

I know that many people fulfilling lives with bipolar disorder. I know several successful and famous people have accomplished a lot with this disorder. I know there are some studies indicating a link between bipolar disorder and creativity and (ironically) written and verbal IQ. I also know that bipolar symptoms are manageable with a good support system and medication, and that having bipolar disorder is not a personal flaw.

Yes, I’m bipolar now.

But as my psychiatrist pointed out, I’ve already been living with this disorder for at least a decade. Now that I’m diagnosed, I can get the specific help I need. Things will only get better from here.