I am not my hair

Today I was given a label.

Bipolar Type 2” 

I’ve been waiting for this label for a very long time. I have seen plenty of mental health nurses, and counsellors and gp’s since I was 12, but in the last few months I have been meeting with a psychiatrist and a mental health worker who today diagnosed me with my condition. 

It is a huge relief to finally know what the heck is wrong with me and why I am the way I am, it also means that I finally get the right medication and support, I’m looking forward to that. Mostly because I get to be normal. I get to function like most other human beings.

But the thing is my diagnosis doesn’t define me. Same as my eating disorder doesn’t define me.


I am more than my circumstances. 


I am more than being a third child in a family of 7, I am more than being a youth worker, than a girlfriend, a godmother, a woman. I am a human being and I am made up of so many different facets, my story and identity is woven together of so many different threads. 

For a while I allowed myself to be defined by the labels I put on myself, “stupid” “ugly” “irrelevant” “useless” “crazy.” I allowed myself to be defined by the labels other people put on me “bitch” “selfish” “attention seeker” “weak.”

No more. 

Now I know that I am so much more than those things. That a label can’t sum you up, it can not describe you or help someone to know you better. I’m not scared of this label, it’s just another phrase that helps me to understand. 


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