I was diagnosed as depressed and was told it was due to hormones. I was told by two doctors I was "borderline bipolar"--whatever that means--but was never sent to a psych. All anyone did was prescribe antidepressants. I was on Prozac the longest but also tried Wellbutrin and Prestiq. Prestiq was an absolute nightmare. When I went on it I became manic--although I didn't know what it was called at the time--rapid cycling and then crashed and became so suicidal my husband was afraid to let me shower and shave my legs without him sitting right outside of the bathroom on the bed.

I ended up going to the ER, walking up to the front desk and flat out telling the woman I was suicidal and needed help. The first time I left after sitting in a room alone for four hours. The next night I went back because I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt I was going to kill myself the next day. That time they got me back immediately, put me in a room for psychotic patients and told me I would be arrested if I tried to leave. Several hours later I was taken to a psych hospital by an incredibly kind police officer. He stayed with me until he was positive I would be okay and taken care of. It was around 5 in the morning when I got there and by that night I had been evaluated by four different psych doctors and diagnosed as bipolar 1 by all of them. I'm now on Wellbutrin, Lamictal, Seroquel and then take Ativan as needed. I still have periods of not sleeping and suspect I'm slipping into a period of depression now. I have to get my meds adjusted or new ones added on here and there but I don't mind. Being diagnosed was one of the best things that ever happened to me because it saved my life and has made it better. I didn't see it that way until recently but now I understand that without the diagnosis I would be dead or, at the very least, probably divorced, without my children and living a life that would be a total mess.