Today's diagnosis: Bipolar II.

I don't know why this makes me sad, but it kind of does. First of all, I don't like it. I don't like it one bit. One the one hand it was almost comforting; some kind of justification or verification. On the other hand, I felt kind of defeated.

It's like when you gain weight and you resist SO hard in buying the size larger in new jeans, because the purchase of said jeans would be some admission of guilt. Like you have failed. You should have done better. (At least that's how *I* see it. But people tell me I'm too hard on myself.)

Having the doctor say it out loud kind of made it real. Final. It was one thing years ago to have my friends joke about it, "Oh, there's Michelle, being all bipolar today!" I could laugh at that. It wasn't really real, and I didn't really believe it. Because eventually I would snap out of it. So of course it couldn't possibly be real.

And part of me likes it, to be honest. I've never really known any other way to be. I've been this way since I was 16, maybe this is just how I'm SUPPOSED to be. I like the rush, the intensity, the ability to stay up writing or painting or crafting on little to no sleep. It's amazing, it really is. My "randomness" is always something that my friends have told me is something they like about me.

The other half isn't nearly as exhilarating, but it's familiar. And it's me. To me, THAT is what's real. But now they want to take it all away? I'll be honest that kind of scares me. A lot. It shouldn't. I've done things I shouldn't have under a frame of mind that I couldn't control. That much is true. I should be ecstatic. But I'm not, and I really don't know why.

Today, part of me wanted to cry. Part of me wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. Part of me wanted to run away and hide. Part of me was embarrassed. Part of me was pleased. It was all just bittersweet.