My moods cycle so rapidly that by the time I have sorted out whether it is myself talking, or the bipolar taking over, it is far too late and the damage is done.
It is one long continuous rollercoaster that pauses briefly, perched on the top arch, before plunging back down again with the same cycle repeating all over again.
It means I must sift through the illness, try and rewire mixed-up thinking while tired and exhausted or manic and high.
And sometimes, when I am very lucky, I get to feel and see and touch the world in such sharp reality and beauty that those who are not bipolar never seem to see.
