Diagnosis: Bipolar II

Before we started our first session, Dr. B warned me that it could take anywhere from one to three sessions for him to diagnose me.
Monday came and it was time for my second session. Dr. B had asked me if we could include a family member so that he could get another perspective on my symptoms - things I didn't notice about myself. I immediately nominated Wallace, my fiance, who lives with me (and our dog).
Dr. B thanked J for joining us and helping to shed light on my symptoms so that I could receive proper treatment. We talked at length about my manic symptoms. Wallace notices things more than I do and was more aware of how long things lasted than I am. When Dr. B was done getting information from Wallace, he asked me if I'd feel comfortable having Wallace stay in the room with me while we continued the session. He was aware that some people are not comfortable keeping their spouse or loved one in the room with them.
We talked about some more depression symptoms and I was also asked about any paranoid feelings I had and any possible hallucinations. Paranoia, a bit yes. Sometimes proven to be true (when it comes to peers not liking me and talking behind my back). Hallucinations, no. Except for the time the Ambien made the rug in the bathroom swirl.
When Dr. B had finished asking his questions he told me I had Bipolar II. And he wants me to come back some time during this week or the following for us to discuss the treatment plan.
While I wait for my next appointment I still have to go for that blood test to check my thyroid. It's important to follow that closely as some treatments for bipolar affect the thyroid. And I already have a problem with my thyroid so I don't need more, now do I?

Treatment: Take Two

So I went back to the drawing board and dug up the name and number of Doc No. 2 who'd been on vacation when I'd first called.
He was taking new patients and could meet with me. Okay. Great.
Luck of the draw the week before my appointment the receptionist called to say that there were some cancellations so I could come in sooner. Like, tomorrow. Oooookkkkaaaaaaaay. Sure. That'd be great.
Despite that last bit of sarcastic sounding commentary, I was actually happy. I'd been deeply depressed for days and was desperate for something that resembled the road to recovery.
I had already received the papers to fill out for the first meeting. All kinds of questions about medications I was taking, medical history, and an inventory of depressed symptoms. This seemed, to me, much more serious than that joker, Dr. Evil. In fact I'd done them that morning before the phone call came through moving up my appointment. A veritable good sign, I thought to myself.
And it was. I met with Dr. B for 45 minutes. Those 45 minutes focused on my medical history, not my employment history (though he did ask - it was to see if my illness interfered with my ability to keep my job), my family medical history, and some of my manic symptoms. At the end of the session, he described all the things he'd like to talk about at our next session, which would be within the week, and asked if I would mind if he talked to a family member who knows me well who could discuss my symptoms. I immediately named my fiance, Wallace. And said we could call my mother for more family background.
I made the appointment (it was Thursday) for Monday.

Dr. Evil

I finally went through the aggravating process (details of which I will spare you) of calling my insurance company for preapproval for mental health services.

Why do they make it so hard for people already facing the need for mental help to get that help? (Stepping off my soapbox... For now.)

They gave me a bunch of names. The first had no room in her practice. The second was on vacation. Third time's the charm, right?

Uh. No.

Drugs with frickin' laser beams attached to their heads
I met with Dr. Evil for about 45 minutes. He spent the better part of that asking me about my work history - was he giving me a job? Seriously, he was all about when I worked where, etc. He didn't ask me about when I'd started feeling depressed. In fact, he implied that I was having a depressed mood, and did not have clinical depression. I think he was convinced of that from the moment I walked into his office.
He even overlooked a crass remark I made about wanting to drown myself in the bathtub. Did not ask me one single follow-up question about it. Did not ask if I'd ever felt that way before. Did not ask if I'd ever acted on any of these feelings.
He did attempt to explain that some people have depressed moods (he nodded at me) and some people have clinical depression. Duh.
He also told me that no panic attack lasts longer than fifteen minutes so I should learn to excuse myself at work and go to the bathroom to breathe.
At the end of our "session" he gave me a prescription for Celexa (which he claimed I could control) and told me to come back in a month. I tried to picture myself in the mornings: should I take an extra couple of milligrams (or whatever) this morning to make sure I'm perky?
I was fuming. I knew this wasn't the answer. And to validate my feelings, I did a little research. I went to celexa.com.
The first thing I saw, before any descriptions, warnings, anything, was an advertisement for Lexapro. A drug I'd taken before and that I had told him gave me some relief that did not last and I never had again with any other drug I tried.
Enough guinea pigging. I went back to the car where J was waiting. He fumed when I told him.
I hadn't been heard. Not at all.

Lexapro - More like LexaNO

My adventures in mental health started long before I even knew about it. I really can't remember when any particular symptom started.

Sometime in 1996, I think, I noticed depressed feelings. Depressed feelings that were incredibly strong.

Years later, I realized I had clinical depression. It was the only way to explain why this horrendous feeling kept returning. I felt like I couldn't win. Just when things felt better - WHAM! Not anymore.

A little over a year ago, I agreed to start taking anti-depressants. I was starting a new, highly stressful job, planning my wedding, and I had had problems with depression and anxiety for too long.

Initially, Lexapro was fabulous. Everything had been so bleak - the smallest confrontation or tough task felt insurmountable and overwhelming. Suddenly the bleakness was gone. I could handle things. I still could feel bad, sad, and other feelings, but I could handle life better.

Then it seemed to wear off. Like it stopped working. So we upped the dose. That didn't make a dent. I stopped taking it.

I tried Zoloft. Not much better. No feelings of relief of any kind. And the suicidal ideation was painful. I'd dwell on not wanting to exist. Therefore, the Zoloft could not possibly be working. So I stopped that one too. Sometime last summer.

I took a few months off, thinking that maybe I could handle life without the pills. I couldn't. By November, I had looked into information about different drugs for depression. I asked my physician about Wellbutrin. It is different from Lexapro and Zoloft because it is not an SSRI. I thought maybe it would work better because it was a different approach.

Nope.

In fact, it made me so dizzy, lightheaded, confused, and nauseous, that within a month I was throwing up regularly. And I was having raging fits over almost nothing. Like my dog pulling on his leash. I wanted to throttle the poor little guy. Though thankfully, I never have. Despite repeated temptations. After spending a whole day in the bathroom praying to the porcelain God, I called my doctor and threw in the towel. I had had enough.

I wanted no more of this. Ever.

But of course, that was not an option.

Soon, I spiraled downward. I came to the swift realization I could not do without treatment. And my fiance and I started talking. He'd heard from his sister that she thought I sounded an awful lot like someone with bipolar disorder.

That sounded frightening. Worse than depression, certainly. The taboo was ridiculous. Apparently, I'm a bit paranoid when it comes to what others think of me. Oh well.

So, here we begin.