When It Doesn’t Fit…

You know you’re different from the rest,
With shifting storms inside your chest.
A thousand moods a day deploy,
And simmering rage destroys your joy.

You copy faces in the crowd,
While quiet panic screams aloud.
You pull them close, then push away,
With black and white to rule the day.

An endless void you try to fill,
Yet drugs and spending leave it still.
Impulses strike before you think,
And drag you to the sudden brink.

You feel so numb, completely dead,
And turn to pain to clear your head.
You lay your symptoms out in view,
And Bipolar is what they hand to you. 

You take the label home to read,
Unmatched by every word and deed.
The garment hangs upon your frame,
A heavy, ill-fitting name.

You do not feel godlike powers,
Sleeping for hardly any hours.
Manic energy that lasts for weeks,
Then zero interest when it peaks

For years you bear the useless lie,
And wonder why you even try.
Until the puzzle clicks in place,
And BPD reveals its face.

Finally, the pieces fall,
And suddenly you see it all.
Proving that they got it wrong,
You had another disorder all along. 

So trust the instinct in your chest,
When lazy doctors fail the test.
If your diagnosis simply does not fit,
Keep shouting until they correct it.