Notes

I was a six year old kid with a hard working mum and a hard working dad. The only difference was that my dad wasn't poorly, but my mum was. She didn''t have a cold or a cough but she was up at three am cleaning, while my dad and I were dreaming. Her head was swarming with amazing ideas, unbelievable ideas, unrealistic ideas. The house was a mess, papers everywhere, notes on how to solve world hunger. She looked normal to other people, but not to me. You could see in her eyes that she was a difference person. More excited, more determined, more angry. This slowly, but surely led into something else and she wasn't feeling this way anymore. The house stayed messy, she wanted to stay asleep and her world changed from colour to greyscale as quick as the flick of a switch. She cried all the time and hardly ever smiled. This lasted a long time until I started to see my mum, the one i had grown up knowing, not this manic stranger, not this depressed stranger, but my mum. My mum has Bipolar Disorder.