I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder last year by accident after a comment to my psychiatrist about taking antidepressants, so I wanted to share my story in solidarity of the 1.3 million people in the United Kingdom who have bipolar disorder, and to the many more out there who remain undiagnosed.
I was sitting in the psychiatrist’s office. He looked nice; expensive shoes, curly hair, Irish accent. He was a psychiatrist you’d see in an HBO drama; having paid privately for the assessment, I thought, “you get what you pay for.” Only I wasn’t thinking that.
I wasn’t thinking anything; my brain had been like television static for months. He rattled through some questionnaire, asking questions about my family’s mental health, if I was a
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