Before I was diagnosed as bipolar, I had the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps I was having a bad day, I was just moody, I some up on the wrong side of the bed. I had an excuse for being extremely happy and then despondently sad. My excuses were my security. As it evolved, it went from a bad day to a bad decade. I sometimes miss those excuses. I am still learning about my triggers, trying different medicine, and taking it one day at a time. As it stands, I cannot differentiate between spiralling into depression or simply having a stressful work week. I do not know if my happiness stems from a lovely afternoon spent with my son at the park or if it is a manic episode in the making. I find it difficult to navigate. It is disconcerting when you can no longer trust your own mind, feelings, and actions; it is like your body becomes foreign and everything you ever thought you knew is wrong and you are trying g to catch up.