I went to see a new shrink yesterday and failed to report the outcome of that visit on yesterday's entry.

Back when I was first diagnosed of being Bipolar, that shrink said I was Type II which is a milder form of the disorder.

Yesterday's shrink said I was actually Type I, good ol' Manic Depression. He based his diagnosis on the severity of my periods of mania, plus my bouts with Major Depression and my one serious attempt at suicide.

I have to see another shrink at the clinic next month who will do the "official" intake. Maybe he'll have a different opinion.

Frankly I don't give a hoot where I fall on the Bipolar scale of fun and games. At this point in my life, which has been completely destroyed because I didn't fully investigate the hazards of being Bipolar (mostly inattentiveness which was a great hindrance to being a successful truck driver), I'm left with living with my son in a small town (2,075 souls, 2010 Census) on the Stevens Pass highway. Luckily it's a nice town that has a really good Mexican restaurant (their Pollo Poblano is delicious), not counting our next door neighbor selling marijuana to my son the drug deals go down on the street in front of the elementary school, and only one grocery store that sells real tasty and soft chocolate chip cookies.