I had admitted something was off. I received the referral, got the appointment, and did the screening questionnaires and interviews, which led to a diagnosis. I finally had a reason for why my mood yo-yoed up and down over the years. I had an explanation for the high episodes and deep depressions that cycled almost like clockwork. I had a name to apply to what I had been experiencing since my teens – Bipolar Type 2. It also meant I could receive proper treatment and medication so I would no longer have to live that way. Such relief!
What I didn’t expect was grief. No one warned me I’d feel that way.
I grieved for the missed possibilities had my mood disorder been recognized and treated earlier. How much easier life could have been for myself and my loved ones!
I grieved that it meant a lifetime of management, medication, and daily work to keep myself on an even keel.
I grieved my expectations of what life would look like for me.
I grieved the increased risk of complications my medication introduced to my pregnancies. It turned out fine but meant extra monitoring at the high-risk clinic.
I went through the five stages of grief in the months after my initial diagnosis. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally, acceptance. With acceptance came peace. I wasn’t scared of my mental health diagnosis any more than if it were any other physical condition requiring sustained maintenance. My diagnosis became a matter of fact, no more interesting than managing my thyroid condition. I take both pills in a single gulp in the morning and move on with my day.
Sometimes the grief bubbles to the surface, but it’s easier to manage now. I remind myself that I have the appropriate support now and cannot change my past experiences. It’s not helpful to think of what could have been. Instead, I focus on what is, and things are pretty good.
