braising like a pot roast
i’ve spent much of the last week in quiet reflection. stewing. simmering. absorbing.
it’s the only way i can manage to process the unsavory idea that my second opinion has returned in the affirmative for bipolar disorder.
it’s still a working diagnosis to be sure, but my PhD, clinical psychologist, who specializes in mood disorders like bipolar, and who has 20 years of experience is inclined to think i’m bipolar too. blast.
shame is the predominant flavor, along with a handful of guilt, a splash of confusion, and a pinch of relief. i’ve thrown in a shake or two of denial too, for good measure.
the shame is perhaps the most irrational of the bunch, because it is just so completely enveloping. i feel like damaged goods. anything negative anyone has ever said about me suddenly feels more true. my enemies have been vindicated. i feel categorically different than “normal” people, like they are living this parallel life, unfazed, and i am watching from the shadows. hell, i AM a shadow.
it’s a delicate dance, and i haven’t been pushing it. i’m letting it wash over me and i’m observing. i will look forward to that period beyond the processing. the feeling of acceptance.
right after i get another opinion…