I went to a new pdoc on Friday. After asking me a series of questions and somehow indirectly digging up somethings that I somehow had blocked out, she wasn’t convinced that I have bipolar disorder. She definitely identified depression and anxiety, but no mania. She thinks, I might have borderline personality disorder, and no offense to anyone who does, but it shook my whole world. I had finally accepted the bipolar and now it may be this. She wants me to track my moods and feelings for a month because she prescribed me Celexa. Yep, an anti depressant. And you know how I feel? Scared. Because for the first time in weeks, I am elated. I’m in such a good mood. I recently just experienced a three week long depressive episode and for today to be a good day despite everything I didn’t get to accomplish is great. Many people say, “I don’t like labels.” Or “don’t place me in a box.” But not me. I like knowing exactly what I am at all times, which explains why I always constantly found myself asking people close to me their opinions on decisions as something as simple as should I wear this dress or as complex as should I break up with him? Anyways, I liked knowing I have bipolar disorder, see I’m not crazy, I’m not being dramatic, it was my disorder. It wasn’t me. And as I’m writing this, I realize how selfish that sounds. To blame my disease. Whatever it is. Does anyone else do this? Or is it just me? I feel like my mind is racing, and now I’m gotten away from the whole point of this post. I’m scared of what’s wrong with me. Does that make sense?