I was 17 when I sat in your office and you told me that the paranoia I was feeling was just a symptom of me being a teenager.

You told me that everybody my age felt that people were watching them because we are all worried about what other people think of us and that as my self-confidence grew then the feeling would subside. You said the most I was going to deal with would be depression and general anxiety.

I told you that it didn't really feel that way. Every laugh was directed at me, everyone was scrutinizing me, and it felt like people were out to get me. It wasn't just a self-esteem thing but something much more sinister. Again you dismissed me and told me that it was something that teenagers do and I would get over it when I was older.

When I went to college I found a new therapist. She told me these feelings weren't exactly as normal as you led me to believe. She told me that I might have something known as a personality disorder. I told my mom, who was still seeing you on a regular, and she told you at her next session. You had the gall to tell my mother that I can't possibly have a personality disorder.

From this new therapist I learned a lot about therapists like you. She told me that there were some people who refused to acknowledge personality disorders all together, and some that just didn't want to diagnose younger people for several different reasons. In my opinion, it is ridiculous to continuously put off a diagnosis because of someone's age. The earlier it is diagnosed the sooner it can be treated.

I don't really understand why you couldn't just say that I might have this. I don't understand why I had to go to a whole new therapist to find this out. I don't understand why I had to pour my heart out to you just to be ignored. I don't understand why I had to go through my senior year thinking that I was this freak because I couldn't comprehend why I didn't stack up to my peers, why I mumbled and spoke real fast, why my sentences sometimes didn't make sense, and the only time I was able to speak was when I was putting pen to paper. I didn't understand why I felt so out of place and I can't help but think that maybe if you had taken the time to actually help me it could have been avoided.

I hold no grudges against you most of the time but sometimes my brain just brings it up again and I get so angry. I don't understand why I get so mad but maybe it's just another part of this personality disorder that I am learning to cope with.

This isn't a call out. This isn't an "oh how dare you" article. This isn't a way to get back at you. This is a rallying cry to people that I have been through the same thing I have and haven't had the courage or ability to speak out about it. Everyday people are being misdiagnosed in the mental health field and I feel it is due to the stigma that revolves around mental illnesses. No one wants to diagnosed "harsher" illnesses because they don't want to acknowledge it.

This isn't a letter to you. This is a letter to everybody who has been misdiagnosed. This is a letter to everybody who has had countless pain brought on them because of an avoided diagnosis.

I may never understand why it took me finding a new therapist to get a diagnosis that made me feel like I wasn't just a circus freak, but someone with an actual illness. I may never see you again and get the closure I want. But if this article can help just one person get to there proper diagnosis then maybe it will have been worth it.