Misdiagnosis: To Be or Not To Be Bipolar

If I had to sum up my whole life in one word it would be hypersensitivity. My high school graduating class even came up with new year book electives just for me: "moodiest" and "most stressed". Looking back I lacked executive functioning skills, suffered with deep depression and struggled to fit in with my peers. That sums up my whole life. At age 30, I was diagnosed bipolar after what I would now call post partum mania after having my only child. It was so scary, I decided to not have more. But the diagnosis didn't solve the sensitivity, executive functioning, the meltdowns, etc. At 48 I started a new therapist. I religiously saw her for an hour a week for three years to hear that she believes Im autistic, not bipolar. So, after about a year of hearing her drop hints I got tested. Passed with flying colors. Now, the breathing in paper bags, the stimming, the looping, the depression. It all makes sense. But I can't get over the harm that's been done to me. I've been overmedicated for 32 years with no tool bag. And now I'm left on these meds that have literally brought me to my knees. The anti seizure, anti psychotic, anti depressant. At one point in my life I was taking over 1,000 mg a day of these meds. Currently down to 67.5 and moving at a snails pace with an inadequate provider. Yes, in the end I'm so glad to have a diagnosis that fits, but I'm left swallowing the bitter pills of a misdiagnosis from that first physician, who was unfortunately a family friend who LOVED prescribing meds like they were candy.