Life for someone with bipolar disorder depends entirely on the episode they’re in. During depression, everything grinds to a halt. The world loses its color. Emotions vanish. Your bed feels like a cage. If you’re on quetiapine, the constant brain fog and relentless fatigue make it even harder. In the best-case scenario, you might access ketamine, offering a temporary reset. But those moments are rare. Depression isn’t sadness. It’s emptiness. There are no reasons. No desires. Just the overwhelming weight of getting through another day.

In moments of stability, or euthymia, the memories surface. You replay the impulsive decisions you made during mania. You regret the excesses, the spending, the words. You fill your life with lists. Sticky notes. Promises to avoid making the same mistakes again. Then mania returns and all those plans go out the window. You feel invincible. Brimming with energy. Dreams. Indulgences. But that high is always followed by a crash. And when you crash, it hits hard. Dragging you back to a place where the fight isn’t to live but to survive the moment.