Me, misdiagnosed.

When I was a little girl and until the day she died, my mom told me I was Irish/Italian. She really focused on the Irish side. She had a lot of fun putting me in green on St. Patrick’s Day. She just went on and on about me being Irish. There was no denying I was part Italian. I don’t look Italian as I’m very pale with blonde/brown hair. Mom, though, looked like her Italian side very much. It came as a shock that when she passed away my aunts told me I’m not Irish. They have no idea why Mom told me that. It turns out I’m British/Italian. I had an identity crisis. Who was I without my Irish ancestry? I’ve been Irish my whole life but I’m actually British. Then it started to feel correct. I do love English history and I’m an ardent Jane Austen admirer. Being British just made more sense than being Irish. Mom was a firm believer in reincarnation and she told me several times that she was my mother long ago in Ireland. She was quite the free spirit. After the initial shock wore off, I became comfortable with the new way to describe myself.

A couple of months ago, I finally changed psychiatrists. The one who was my doctor for eighteen years finally priced me out of seeing him and his office is a two hour drive from my house. It was time to find someone closer and who took my insurance. That I did and I got a good impression from him. He’s big on me explaining in detail my symptoms and that’s a challenge but I figure I’ll give him a chance.

A few weeks ago, I had a manic episode with thoughts that were racing so fast, I couldn’t pin them down. The whole situation made me curl up in my bed and cry. As my old doctor took several days to get back to me, and it would somehow end up costing me $350, I had reservations about the timeliness of the new doctor. I called him to start the process and he had an appointment that day. With my insurance, the visit was much cheaper. Since the stay-at-home mandate is in full effect, the appointment was a video conference. After telling my new psychiatrist my symptoms, he told me he didn’t believe I was having a manic episode. He said I was having a panic attack. He doesn’t believe I’m bipolar. He believes I have ADHD with underlying anxiety. He changed my diagnosis to schizoaffective ADHD disorder.

What do you mean I’m not bipolar? I’ve been bipolar for the past twenty-six years. I identify as a bipolar schizophrenic. I wrote a book about living with the disorder. Who was I without my bipolar label? I had an identity crisis. Then I started looking into ADHD in children and adults and things started to click. My childhood was full of hyperactivity and not mania. Of course there was underlying anxiety. A lot of manic episodes I thought I was having were actual panic attacks. Bipolar medications don’t work that well for me and I was constantly trying different drugs. I thought I had such a severe case that medication couldn’t help me much. In fact the truth was bipolar medications don’t work for me because I’m not bipolar. My doctor then put me on Adderall. And wow, there’s a huge difference in my brain. A good difference.

Of course, I’m still schizophrenic. There’s no denying the that aspect of my diagnosis. One part of me has been taken away and replaced with something that fits. It makes me a little angry that I was misdiagnosed by three doctors, but I can’t change the past. I just have to move forward with a better understanding of who I am. With that knowledge I can better treat my condition. It will take a bit of an adjustment saying I have ADHD but there will be a time when it becomes second nature and I will no longer think to say “bipolar.” Kind of like how I don’t think to say “Irish” anymore when I state my ethnicity.