I'm struggling to accept my new Bipolar I diagnosis. I'd been Bipolar II for a few years, but I had always thought that I was somehow immune to true mania and psychotic symptoms. Not so.

Not that labels mean much, but it means that my disease is more serious and more dangerous than previously thought.

Naturally, I'm in denial. I keep trying to convince myself that what I experienced last weekend didn't actually happen, but some memories are too vivid to forget. As manias go, it was mild, but terrifying just the same. I am grateful that although I was suffering illusions and hallucinations, I did not become delusional to the point of needing hospitalization.

So, I guess this is the new me. I've received my club card. Got my sticker. Earned my merit badge. Now I know, without a doubt, that I really am bipolar (I), and that's a tough pill for me to swallow.

I feel so... broken... defective... inferior, etc.