The doctor looked at me and said "my assesment is showing signs of bi-polarism." He stared at me. Stared me right in the eyes and said "what do you think about that?". At first I wasn't scared. With a long list of mental illnesses under my belt, I shrugged it off. As I walked out of the doctors office, the receptionist hugged me. She hugged me as if I had just been diagnosed with a fatal illness. She told me everything would be okay and I would get through this. At that moment my mind was racing. People around me acting as if I had been diagnosed with fucking cancer. I went home that day and told my mother what the doctor said. She denied the diagnosis and told me that I shouldn't worry because there's no way that I was bi-polar. It was winter. A couple days later the mania overcame me. Days on days without sleeping, speaking faster than I could keep up with. As painful as it sounds, mania was summer. It was happiness and it was a break from the long, cold winter that was always brewing inside me. I wonder if I would sound crazy if I said that i'm forever thankful that I have bi-polar disorder. Forever thankful that everything in the world can be going wrong, but my mood will convince me that my life is perfection. My diagnosis was everything except for Autumn. It was high, it was low, but never on the middle ground. It was never Autumn.
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