(Flashback – My Bipolar Disorder)
Iris
I remember the first time I realized something was wrong with me.
I was fifteen.
I had always been a little different—my emotions didn’t follow the same rhythm as everyone else’s. Some days, I felt invincible, like the world was mine to conquer. I would paint for hours without stopping, my hands moving faster than my thoughts, my mind buzzing with a thousand ideas. I didn’t need sleep. I didn’t need food. I was alive.
Then, there were the other days.
Days when even breathing felt like a chore. When my body felt too heavy, my thoughts too dark. When I would stare at my paintings and see nothing but failure, ugliness. I would stay in bed for hours, unable to move, unable to care.
I thought it was normal.
Until it wasn’t.
Flashback
It was late at night. The house was quiet, the only sound was the ticking of the clock in my room. I was sitting on the floor, my sketchbook in front of me, my hands shaking.
I had been drawing for hours. Days, maybe. I wasn’t sure anymore. Time blurred when I was like this—when my mind refused to slow down. My thoughts were racing, voices whispering inside my head. Faster, keep going. You’re brilliant. Don’t stop now.
I hadn’t slept. I hadn’t eaten. But I felt amazing.
Until suddenly, I didn’t.
The rush of energy drained from me like water slipping through my fingers. My heart, which had been pounding with excitement, now ached with something else.
Emptiness.
I stared at my drawing—the one I had been so proud of just minutes ago—and saw nothing but chaos. Ugly. Worthless. A mistake.
Something inside me snapped.
I grabbed the paper and tore it apart. Then another. And another. I ripped through my sketchbook, destroying everything I had worked on for weeks. My breaths came out ragged, my chest tightening with something unbearable.
“Iris?”
I flinched at the sound of my mom’s voice. She stood in the doorway, eyes wide with worry. She took one look at the torn pages scattered across my floor, then at me—curled up, trembling, struggling to breathe.
And she knew.
She didn’t say anything. She just walked toward me and pulled me into her arms. I wanted to push her away, to tell her I was fine, but I couldn’t. Because I wasn’t.
“I think,” I whispered, my voice shaking, “something’s wrong with me.”
She held me tighter.
“We’ll figure it out,” she murmured. “You’re not alone, sweetheart.”
End of Flashback
That was the night my mom took me to a doctor.
The night I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.
The night I realized I would never be normal.
And now, years later, that fear still haunts me. Because no matter how much people say they care—
They always leave.
Just like Christian did.
Just like Eli might.
So, when I was in a relationship with Christian, my bipolar disorder was… unpredictable. Some days, it felt like I was in control, like I could be the perfect girlfriend—the kind who laughed easily, who made him feel like the center of my world.
Other days, it felt like I was a burden.
And no matter how much he reassured me, no matter how many times he said he wasn’t going anywhere, deep down, I knew—
Love doesn’t cure me.
Flashback
I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to move. My body felt like it was sinking into the mattress, weighed down by something invisible but crushing.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Christian.
I knew I should answer. I knew he was worried. But I didn’t have the energy.
Seconds later, another buzz. A message.
Christian: Iris, please talk to me.
I turned my face away, blinking back tears.
A few minutes passed before I heard a knock on my door.
“Iris?” His voice was gentle, hesitant. “It’s me.”
I stayed silent, hoping he’d go away.
But, of course, Christian never did.
The door creaked open. Footsteps. Then the bed dipped as he sat beside me. He didn’t say anything at first. Just reached out, brushing his fingers against mine.
“You’re shutting me out again,” he finally said.
I swallowed hard. “I don’t mean to.”
“I know,” he murmured. “But I don’t know how to help you when you get like this.”
I turned my head slightly, meeting his worried gaze. “There’s nothing you can do.”
His jaw clenched. “That’s what scares me the most.”
I exhaled shakily, closing my eyes. “I hate this. I hate feeling like this.”
Christian gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Iris… do you ever get tired of me?”
That made my eyes snap open. “What? No.”
“Then why do you always push me away?” His voice was filled with frustration, but beneath it, I heard something else—hurt.
I felt my throat tighten. “Because I don’t want you to get tired of me.”
For a long moment, he didn’t respond. Then, he sighed, lying down next to me. His fingers laced with mine, holding on even when I was slipping.
“Iris,” he whispered. “I’m not leaving.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, holding on to the lie.
End of Flashback
Because in the end, he did leave.
And now, with Eli, I’m terrified of repeating the same cycle.
Of making him love me, only to exhaust him.
Because no matter how much someone says they won’t leave—
They always do.