Passionate diagnosis

I’ m not sure why those words cut me so deep or sank in to my brain so far that I had a hard time maintaining a previous way of living; but they did. I had been saying for years that I was. I had laughed while explaining this was just one more reason I wasn’t “crazy” I was “passionate”. But suddenly when the doctor expressed those words so easily, “Bipolar”, “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder”,   and “you will need medication for the rest of your life”. I felt the joke was suddenly on me. It was no longer cute. It was no longer endearing. I was no longer the fun, impulsive chick. The one everyone fell in love with for my movie-style ways. In one second, my cute little saying, the one that made grown men, melt was stolen. They took away my identity of fun girl and made me crazy, medicated girl. I was not passionate anymore. I was just plain crazy.