For years, I struggled with feeling misunderstood—not just by those around me, but by the very professionals who were meant to help me. In 2012, I was misdiagnosed with Bipolar Disorder and Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder (EUPD). At the time, I was trapped in a violent and abusive relationship, enduring physical, emotional, sexual, and narcissistic abuse. My ex-partner manipulated me, gaslighting me into believing that I was the problem—that I was unstable, unpredictable, and needed help. Friends echoed similar concerns, telling me I showed symptoms of Bipolar and EUPD. I trusted their words and, in my desperation for answers, I repeated what they told me to professionals.
I had no knowledge of autism or ADHD back then. The little I had heard about ADHD was the stereotype of someone being “hyperactive,” nothing more. Autism wasn’t even on my radar. So when I sought help, I fully believed that Bipolar and EUPD explained my struggles. The professionals agreed, prescribing mood stabilisers, antipsychotics, and antidepressants. I thought this was the right path—but something always felt off.
It wasn’t until 2018 that everything started to shift. I had hired an educational psychologist to assess me for dyslexia—nothing more. Over three sessions, each lasting about two and a half hours, she observed me carefully. At the end of the assessment, she told me something unexpected: she believed I was showing strong traits of autism and ADHD. She encouraged me to take her findings to my GP. The report she wrote was 26 pages long—a detailed, in-depth analysis of what she had observed.
When I handed the report to my GP, her reaction shocked me. She had known me for over ten years and assumed I had already been diagnosed with both autism and ADHD. Even the mental health nurse who worked with me for four years had occasionally said, “I don’t personally see Bipolar or EUPD in you, Kerise,” yet they had never raised this during my psychiatric reviews. It was only when I gave permission for my GP practice to add the report to my records in April 2018 that the professionals finally admitted I wasn’t showing symptoms of Bipolar or EUPD. Instead of reassessing me, they discharged me completely from mental health services and advised me to seek support elsewhere.
But I hadn’t even been formally assessed for autism or ADHD yet.
My GP referred me, and in October 2018, I was assessed by the Bristol ADHD Service. The assessment lasted nearly three hours, with breaks, and my mum was present for the session. At the end, they confirmed what had been suspected—I had ADHD, inattentive subtype. They also noted that I didn’t display symptoms of Bipolar or EUPD and completed a DSM-5 mental health questionnaire, which only highlighted my anxiety and lack of eye contact. They strongly recommended an autism referral.
By March 2019, I was seen by the Wiltshire Autism Diagnostic Service, undergoing three assessment sessions, each lasting nearly two hours. A month later, in April 2019, they called to confirm what I had never considered before: I met the criteria for an autism diagnosis. They sent the report to my GP and to me.
I was in disbelief. Relief. Shock. Rage.
For years, I had been medicated for something that may never have existed. And it wasn’t until early 2025, after pushing for an official reassessment of Bipolar and EUPD, that I was finally told the truth: I did not meet the criteria for either disorder. This solidified my belief that my true diagnoses were autism and ADHD all along.
I had also assumed that, once I received my correct diagnoses, my medical records would be updated. But when I checked, not only were Bipolar II and EUPD still on my records, but they had been wrongly dated—listed as occurring later than my original 2012 diagnosis, as if I had still been treated for them after I had already been diagnosed autistic and ADHD. It felt like another betrayal.
My family—my mum, aunt, and nan—had never believed I was Bipolar or had EUPD. They would often tell me that something didn’t seem right. At one point, they even wondered if my race played a role in the diagnosis, as there was a stereotype that mental health disorders were more common in certain racial groups. Perhaps, they thought, I had been stereotyped instead of properly assessed.
At the time, I dismissed their concerns. Surely the professionals knew best? Surely they must be right?
I now realise that even professionals get it wrong—especially when they lack knowledge of neurodevelopmental disorders.
Even though I came out of that relationship in early 2013, I had to file a restraining order due to being harassed and stalked. Yet again, this wasn’t picked up or acknowledged—even when I mentioned what I was going through to mental health services in early 2013. I was still in a bad place, quite vulnerable and scared, having to face this behaviour. However, I sought private counselling for a number of months, which helped me regain some control over my life.
One of my close friends, whom I had known since school at 13 years old, became a source of support. We grew closer, and in July 2013, we began dating—something that wasn’t planned but just naturally happened. By November 2013, I found out I was pregnant and felt truly ready to begin a family! We had spoken about having children in the future but never imagined it would happen so soon.
Today, we are happily married (since 2019) and have an amazing 10-year-old son who was fortunate enough to be diagnosed as autistic at the age of four. My husband was also diagnosed as autistic at 23 in 2014, which was the moment I started questioning my own diagnosis. As we talked about his journey, going through his entire childhood experiences, I found myself relating to so much of it. But I kept wondering—why wasn’t this ever picked up for me? Was it because I wasn’t a boy? Or was it because I had already been diagnosed with Bipolar and EUPD, so they didn’t bother looking any further?
I had so many questions, but at the time, I was too vulnerable, too heavily medicated, and too exhausted to push for answers. So I stayed silent for years.
When I think about everything I went through, I know it was bound to make me feel mentally and emotionally unwell. And then to find out I was misdiagnosed and wrongly medicated for years? That would shake anyone.
The aftermath was its own trauma—a storm of shock, anxiety, depression, and grief for all the years lost, for the self-doubt I had carried, for the trust I had placed in a system that failed me.
But how you deal with it is what matters most.
I can’t change the past, but I can share my story. I can use my voice to help others who may be going through something similar. I can remind people that doctors don’t always get it right—and that questioning a diagnosis is not only okay, but sometimes necessary.
For those who feel lost, unheard, or misunderstood: keep fighting for answers. You deserve to know the truth about yourself.
