Those feelings have always been there, even if I couldn’t name them or look them up in an incredibly intimating medical index. In a moment, sitting in my therapist’s dimly lit basement office, I feel a deep power in knowing. Knowing that there is a reason I wake up some days feeling like I’m living underwater and other days feeling as though my veins are coursing with electricity. Oscillating between the two extremes all the while. The miracle is this: that all of these feelings have a name. “Borderline Personality Disorder,” says my therapist. “Everything I’ve just read is an indicator of Borderline Personality Disorder."