I remember being 17 and yearning for my psychiatrist to spit out the words…
"you have bipolar"
“borderline personality disorder”
Thinking that somehow those words would make me feel whole, that a collection of letters leaving his lips would validate the way i felt.
That i would finally fit in a pretty little box, wrapped and labelled with something worthwhile.
But instead, the perfectly knotted label became nothing but a tightening noose around my neck.
Years later, i realised that people don’t belong in pretty little boxes, much like animals do not belong in cages.
I let go.