Anyone who follows my FB page is familiar with my lamentations about always playing second fiddle. Like being the overlooked middle child - playing second not only to the Golden Child first born son of an Italian father, but also to the baby of the family. Or how I have enough vocal talent to make the choir but never enough for a lead. I have exactly enough of just about everything to land somewhere beyond above average but short of extraordinary. I've been borderline anemic and on the cusp of low calcium and potassium, as well as having JUST enough thyroid stimulating hormone to avoid a "Hypothyroid" diagnosis, but never low enough to warrant treatment of any kind. I have a knack for taking "unremarkable" to a level that gets me noticed only occasionally.
A few years ago, I finally gained a level of self-awareness to understand that some of my behaviors are out of line, but I seemed to lack either conscious control of my actions or any level of give a shit. When my oldest was diagnosed with ADHD, OCD, and ODD (oppositional defiance disorder, it's an impulse control issue) 20 years ago, the counselor suggested that he came by all of those traits honestly and that I may want to consider pursuing diagnosis for myself. As an adult in my mid 20s at the time, I didn't see a reason to seek a diagnosis. I saw the traits in myself and accepted that. So I chalked up my attitude and lack of impulse control to a mash up of those conditions.
As my son grew older and matured some, he seemed to outgrow the need for meds, and by high school he stopped taking them all together. By that point, I had actually questioned if he had been misdiagnosed and was truly on the Autism spectrum. I didn't understand Autism enough to recognize the differences between high functioning and his combo of labels when we were seeking help for him. But as I came to know other children with Autism and to understand the way their minds worked, I wondered if we had taken the correct path for our son. By then, though, he had developed successful coping mechanisms and was doing well in life so I didn't pursue it.
That decision came back to bite me years later when my son came to me about believing that he may have high functioning Autism. He has not yet pursued an adult diagnosis, and I live with the regret that I didn't follow my instinct and have him assessed when I first suspected the possibility.
Wondering about my son's diagnosis then lead to me considering my own quirks. Do I truly have ADHD? I'm still on board with that. Am I truly OCD? Most definitely. Do I truly have ODD? I think it's safe to say that I do. But are these stand alone diagnosis, or are they parts of a greater whole?
As I have aged, I have noticed that some of the traits of these conditions have become more intense. I become much more agitated now when things aren't just so - the way I want my kitchen or bathroom to be cleaned, for example. I've never let my husband fold my laundry because his way leaves things wrinkled, but I have become much more picky about how even I fold my clothes. In recent years I cannot stand the feel of my husband's fan blowing over any part of my body while I try to sleep, though it never used to bother me. Traffic has always been a rage inducer, but the vehicle I've had for just over a year has seen triple digits more than all of my other vehicles combined, and I do not care. I have always been a talker (you're shocked, right?), but now I seem to suffer from diarrhea of the mouth. I know I'm doing it. I know I'm probably oversharing and putting people off. But I cannot control it.
I would love to blame all these changes on being a middle-aged female who is likely dealing with the hormonal flux of perimenopause, but I am not convinced. I have no doubt that hormones are a factor in the equation, but not the answer. With a history of intense depression and periods of equally intense energy, I began to wonder if I am bipolar.
Then one slow night at work, I decided to look into the possibility. I googled "signs of bipolar disorder" and scrolled through the results. Now, before anyone accuses me of confirmation bias in order to self diagnose, I was simply curious to know if I was looking in a worthwhile direction. It was then that I discovered that bipolar disorder now has 2 types.
Bipolar disorder type 1 is the classic manic/depressive characterized by wide mood swings and lengthy periods of time spent in both the manic and depressive phases. While manic, some people engage in dangerous behaviors that could result in physical and/or psychological damage. Others may display less dangerous though no less detrimental behaviors. I know of a person who spent 10 months in a manic phase that nearly resulted in bankruptcy in both their personal and professional lives. And the depressive crash is every bit as fierce. Thoughts of suicide to atone for actions taken during the manic phase are not out of the ordinary.
Bipolar disorder type 2 is differentiated by way of lesser intensity. People with type 2 usually experience less severe mood swings, display fewer dangerous tendencies, crash into a less extreme depression, and the time spent in each phase is not as prolonged.
On that slow night at work, I took a screenshot of the general characteristics of traditional bipolar disorder, sent it to my husband, and asked him, "Without telling me which ones, how many of these traits do you see in me?" The number he returned was just under half of the list. Next, I sent him a screenshot of the list for type 2, which is also known as hypomanic, and asked the same question. His answer was all but 2 traits on the list. His follow up message asked what this was all about. I told him that I thought I might be bipolar and he had just confirmed it.
That was over 5 years ago. And the thought has been lingering in the back of my mind since. It was a situation where I felt like I demonstrated enough traits to give the idea consideration, but not enough to convince me. Yet, as I have aged and come to experience some characteristics more intensely, the idea was brought to a frontal space. I finally decided to ask my doc about the possibility of pursuing a diagnosis.
When I spoke to my doc, I was fully prepared to hear that I was barking up the wrong tree. By the same token, I was also prepared to ask for suggestions as to which tree looked most promising. All I knew for certain was that I didn't like how I felt, I felt like I had no control over my impulses, and I was making people uncomfortable at times. And I didn't want to continue to feel this way. After analyzing me by way of a litany of questions, they felt that I demonstrated enough red flags to have me fully assessed by a psychiatrist. That assessment took place a week ago - and I am now being treated for hypomanic (type 2) bipolar disorder.
A friend of mine has a child who lives with hypomanic bipolar disorder, and I discussed my thoughts about the possibility with them. I told them that my phases manifest in physical energy. My manic phase presents as a tidal wave of uncontrollable, highly intense energy - which plays in my favor if I need to clean my house or do yardwork - often resulting vomiting conversation that does not need to happen and an absolute lack of control in the matter. Consciously, I understand what is happening, but my reptilian brain kicks in and the situation is 100% outside of conscious control. And since every action has an equal but opposite reaction, the energy crash can be debilitating, with me spending many hours in a recliner trying desperately to will myself to take care of at least one of the myriad tasks staring me in the face. No dangerous activity (unless I sass the wrong person at work and end up on disciplinary action) or extremely dark mindset, only heightened passionate energy and a wicked crash. This friend said that is how their child experience hypomania.
To bring this rambling story full circle, I cannot even have the full-blown original version of bipolar disorder - I have the second type. Once again, I am playing second fiddle - displaying just enough promise to continue to live in the less than. The only difference here is that I am actually being treated. And if the treatment is ineffective, I am prepared to accept that I have, in fact, been barking up the wrong tree. If that is the case, I'll grab my hand-me-down fiddle and move on to the next lackluster tree in the park of mediocrity.
