This sounds like me for the past couple years. I apologize for how rambly this is going to be, and I hope it is of some help to you... I've been on so many different meds, and I've often attributed everything to depression and intense anxiety. I figured the reckless periods of my life were just "phases." Once I contemplated OCD as the explanation for my erratic thoughts and perseveration, but I definitely do not have OCD. OCD tendencies, yes, but not clinically diagnosable. In some of my posts from a couple week ago, there's a heavy sampling of this doubt and wavering. You mentioned in one post that you were afraid you had schizophrenia. I totally had that thought cross my mind too. For an entire month last year, the thought kept me up at night, but I concluded it was just being I had such sleep issues. Not sleeping will make people without mental illness hallucinate after so many days.

I blame not getting diagnosed right away on being relatively high-functioning and secretive. I didn't disclose the things I felt guilty about as much as I should have in counseling. I always mentioned the depression, but rarely the symptoms I now know were mania. Once I finally did—just couldn't keep it to myself any longer—they got me an immediate psychiatric consult and psychological testing.

They also carefully combed through my records at the counseling center (all the intake assessments, etc.) and concluded it was Bipolar. At this point, I was mad I signed the release form, but I think I was just mad that what they found made Bipolar make sense. I would periodically quit going to counseling whenever I felt better, and the assessments showed polar opposites in my confidence levels as well as social anxiety levels. After two pdoc appointments, the pdoc labelled it "Bipolar NOS" because they wanted to observe me for a while to better conclude what type/whether or not I was Bipolar at all. I started keeping a journal because I read somewhere it was a good idea, but didn't show it to this pdoc. I was paranoid she'd give me the wrong DX or something like that. I was even more paranoid she'd tell me I was fine since I got A's and one B the last semester, never mind I wasn't sleeping. Some days I was like "Yeah, wow, Bipolar is definitely me" and then others I'd be like "No effing way, it's your anxiety and you said the wrong things to make them think you had this when you actually don't." I'm not a patient person, so the fact they wouldn't commit to certain type or certain diagnosis made me think I maybe didn't have it. I am fully aware that an accurate diagnosis takes time, and I ultimately do respect everyone I worked with for being thorough and not labelling me immediately, but it's tough playing the waiting game!

She did prescribe me some new medication—low dose Seroquel as a sleep aid and Lamictal. The Seroquel made me sleep better, and I credit that for postponing the inevitable manic episode I just had. I was fairly hypomanic at my second appointment. It calmed down a little bit, and then went mixed for a little bit before shifting into full blown mania. I'm lucky I had enough of an impending sense of doom to keep my counseling appointment. My therapist noticed immediately and convinced me to go to the hospital voluntarily. At the hospital, I surrendered the mood journal to the hospital pdoc, and my mother gave him our family history. Due to how manic I was, he was confident of the diagnosis beforehand, but it helped confirm it.

I think the various meds I've been on definitely played into my moods at times. I was pulled off everything except Seroquel in the hospital. They gave me a much higher dose. I've never responded well to SSRI's. They made me feel PMSy 24/7, and I'd always quit taking them after a few months. Wellbutrin helped and helped a lot. Wellbutin staved off nearly all lows for me, and I felt normal on it most of the time, but I don't think it did much for the highs—we're still trying to decide if it caused a couple highs or not. Off it, though I've also had highs. We've determined my first manic episode was when I was thirteen. I quit sleeping for about three weeks and drove my family nuts walking them up at three in the morning because I wanted to talk to them about so-called important things, lol. I grew up in a small town, though, and our family doctor thought I was being a rebellious teen and forcing myself to stay up. I got good grades and was mostly well-behaved, so it was missed. I still hold a grudge against that doctor. High school and college were largely hell for me, and I feel like they missed an opportunity to get me the help I REALLY needed.

And now ... I'll quit rambling. I guess, my point is don't give up on getting the right diagnosis. Being high-functioning is more of a curse than a blessing sometimes. I can't tell you how many times I've been told I couldn't possibly have anything serious because I a) had too much insight or b) still managed to work or go to school. Sometimes I wish I'd have just completely let myself go instead of trying to keep myself together. Hang in there!