There’s a goodbye circle for me at my last program. I’m leaving early instead of graduating because this just isn’t the place for me. They tell me their favorite memory of me, their appreciation, and their hope for me. Some of the comments are blissful and some just rub me the wrong way. “I hope you find your identity at your new program instead of just being mentally ill.”

I can’t. My shoulder knots tighten. My breath shortens. I’m so angry. I just don’t like it when people claim I’m not mentally ill because invalidation of my pain frustrates me to tears. However, I never said that I only identify myself as mentally ill or that I was attached to labels. There’s not understanding me. They’re shoving words into my mouth. Someone is about to get punched in the face.

Yet, months go by. Something in me changes. I find myself singing at cafes, making friends, getting over my exes, writing, and engaging in the random activities and outings offered. I look over hundreds of text messages I’ve sent to friends recently, they’re about subjects that aren’t sad. I’ve told peers countless times, “If only you would have seen me two years ago. You wouldn’t believe it.” Maybe the feedback I had at my last program had some truth to it.. Now that I’ve realized what a normal life is like.

What caused this change? Well, because this program allows me to have freedom and my last program didn’t. And because I have insight and eventually a wandering mind also realizes how to be set free.

Now do morbid thoughts and sadness still come? Yes. But, I try to get over it.

So I’m not a borderline. I’m a person with borderline personality disorder.

I’m not depressed. I’m a person with depression.

And whatever else they claim is wrong with me, I’m not that.

Because my name tag should say “Sophie” instead of “Hello, I’m depressed.”