Let's see...I've spent time in the PTSD and ADHD forums, cuz I was diagnosed 15 years ago with those little lovelies, then finally, last month, BAM!

"Oh, and by the way, Mrs. Blahblah, you're bipolar type II."

"Oh."

Actually, I already knew. Have for a while now...like a decade or so, maybe? Does it matter? Anyway, the point is, there was no way I was gonna admit to myself or anyone else that I was bipolar. Nope. Bipolar people are crazy and I'm not crazy. If I'm crazy, then my abusers will just use it as yet one more excuse to justify themselves. I don't think I can survive that. It hurts too much.

But, like all such things, denial is not just a river in Egypt, and wallowing in either one just gets you wet. They don't change anything.

So here I am, with my acceptance....except, I'm finding others around me, especially my husband, suddenly looking at me differently, regarding me through new lenses, seeing me differently than before - and not in a positive way, either.

All I really want to do right now is cash in my 401K, pay off all the debts and bills I've burdened him with, and disappear. Strangely enough, now that I've accepted my diagnosis, and in spite of the drugs that actually help with it, I think I'd be a lot happier if I could just find a place where I can just be all kinds of weird and I don't have to be normal anymore. It's exhausting.

WW