This Is What It S Really Like To Live With Bipolar Disorder
I’ve never liked the color white. It is bland, cold, sterile and is the backdrop for most bad memories. My father died in a windowless white room — in a white bed, covered in white sheets. My first apartment was white, and the unfinished walls were a stark reminder that this arrangement was temporary. This was not my home. And the color reminds me of absence: of what could be but is not there....