I Think I Need a Bandaid

Herewith, I give you some paraphrased-but-pretty-darned-close-to-exact snippets from my conversation today with my new therapist.

Scene setting: I'm telling the therapist about the conversation I had with my friends last weekend, and how they think I might be hypomanic/bipolar II. We discuss why it matters so much to me right now to not have this label. She asks me what I think. I ramble for a while, but in the end say that it's hard to tell for sure right now. I deny much in the way of hypomania, but admit to these relatively new, definitely deeper-than-ever-before depressions. I start to talk about some of the other situational forces in my life, such as Baroy's lack of a job and my desire to stay home, take care of my kids and do freelance writing.

Therapist: Yeah, I can understand how you might want time to do things like get involved in the PTA, and soccer, and...
Me, with a laugh: Well, I do all of those things already. I'm the newsletter editor for the PTA, a classroom volunteer, the Brownie troop treasurer, the soccer team's Team Mom...
Therapist: Hmm. (A one-beat pause.) And you don't see even the slightest bit of mania in that?

Ouch. And touche. And that's all I have to say about that.