The Spectrum of My Emotional Rainbow as Someone With Bipolar Disorder
It’s of nature but not a seemingly natural progression. It’s my nature — and one that cannot inherently be changed; sometimes muted, sometimes controlled, it is still always present, always has been and always will be.
My blue, indigo and violet days are heavy. I feel full of wet sand. Staying awake just to spend my days staring into space is difficult enough; how am I expected to eat, shower or answer my phone? I curse my bodily functions that require me to find the strength to go to the bathroom. I try to comfort myself with the knowledge that I am doing my best, just by staying awake and staring into space. Then I realize it’s time to call my doctor.
I stare into space for hours at a time, telling myself over and over that I have to find the strength to call my doctor. Unwillingness floods my entire being: if I call my doctor, I’ll have to talk to her. Days and weeks pass by, and all I can find within myself is unwillingness. Then I find a spark.
Sparks are red, orange, and yellow: fiery. Aggressive, dissatisfied sparks tell me that spending all my time staring into space, feeling full of wet sand, isn’t good enough. My blues tell me it’s all I can manage, and I spin into a turmoil of hopelessness – wanting to be able to do anything other than what I am able to do. The spark insists I find a way, demanding action of a different course. Dark murmurings speak of suicide. I close my eyes, picture myself feeling green and balanced, and start rehearsing what I will tell my doctor.
The darkness begins screaming its demands of death. I write down what I need to tell my doctor. It makes it easier to concentrate, and I know this way I won’t leave anything out that she needs to know.
I take a shower for the first time in two weeks. Violet shame fills my tears that fall into the dirty water.
“Do you need to go into the hospital?”
“No,” I whisper. “I’ll go if it gets to that point.”
My doctor and I exchange pieces of paper. I give her one filled with my pain. She gives me four filled with drugs and instructions.
I take the drugs and follow the instructions. One day, I wake up and my smile feels warm, instead of the cold, saggy mask it had been. Today is an orange day. There must be some secret pink to this day too, because I clean and cook and sing and dance! I make plans for the next four months with 13 different people. I begin three art projects, but not one of them seems quite right, so I put in a movie about an art forger. It’s a brilliant movie. Why should my husband have to go to work? I could do this. My research begins.
I already noticed the sparks of yellow and red; they’re beautiful! I know they mean I’m supposed to do something, but they’re so beautiful I don’t care to try to remember what. I should go to the art supply store so I can practice the skills I’ll need. Need… oh. I need to call my doctor.
I call my doctor, and she can tell I’m really feeling the beautiful yet destructive fire. She gives me instructions. I follow the instructions because I’m awesome like that. Changing around the drug cocktail. Change is beautiful. Cocktails are better. I tell her this, and she tells me no cocktails. What a party pooper. I write it down though. It’s difficult to concentrate because of the auditory hallucinations, but I tell myself I can listen to the music after I take my new drug cocktail. I follow my instructions and let go of the fire.
Green is my favorite color. Vibrant yet peaceful, I truly live when I’m filled to my toes with green. I’m balanced. No calls to the doctor are needed. However, in case you didn’t notice, my life isn’t as orderly as a rainbow. It’s more like a tie-dyed T-shirt. Colors bleed, jump and dance through my emotions. Sometimes I can’t think of anything else other than what I’m feeling.
I never said it was easy to live life with a rainbow in my head.
If you or someone you know needs help, please visit the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. You can also reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741. Head here for a list of crisis centers around the world.
The Crisis Text Line is looking for volunteers! If you’re interesting in becoming a Crisis Counselor, you can learn more information here.