They're all wild rides now.
I've visited with new doctors since my last jabbering.
I'm not entirely sure I should write about this here. Or if I should write about it at all. But I will, becuase it's silly that I feel like hiding it. It's going to have an impact on the work going forward, so let's not dance around it.
It doesn't look like I'm on the autism spectrum after all. Well, I may be. We're all somewhere on that spectrum. But it's not the main thing that's been wrong with me all these years. I've been diagnosed with Bipolar 2 and ADHD. That's come after a lifetime of no treatment whatsoever, and the past few years of being treated for the wrong thing.
“March came in that winter like the meekest and mildest of lambs, bringing days that were crisp and golden and tingling, each followed by a frosty pink twilight which gradually lost itself in an elfland of moonshine.”
~ L.M. Montgomery
I always liked March. Maybe because I used to sit on our front porch and listen to the winds sweep through the valley that cut across my street, running between Bridges Drive and on up to Gold Street. March always seemed like that first moment when the world has decided to move on from winter, but it's still wants to stay in bed where it's toasty. March is a chance to catch one's breath before fussy April rolls in expecting us to get busy and to get on with it.
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