Why it took 10 years to get diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder

The Manic Years

I had a conversation with a dear friend tonight, and it took me back to something she said to a could-have-been cruicial conversation we had 9 years ago…

Friend; ‘Maybe you have Bipolar disorder?’

My reply?

‘I doubt that.  I am never happy.’

When I look back at my troubled youth to my lost little self, attempting to navigate her way through the foggy maze of heightened teenage emotion; I see her frightened.  Bewildered, in to taking more wrong turns than the steady path that she so desperately grasped at and missed. I wish, that there was an Angel, who dutifully held her hand out to her and guided her through the haze, just enough so she could just make out the glimpse of what was on the other side of these walls. Just enough to assure her that one day, everything will make sense.

There was no Angel.


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