Sunshine, pool side, laying face to the sky and to the right of the best friends one could ask for. Parker was invited this morning for a swim and after finishing a run decided cooling down was exactly what the doctor ordered.
Parker is happy and comfortably tired—the kind one gets after an early morning run and soaking up burning UV rays.
But a cloud covers Parker. One eye peeking at the sun, Parker notices the sun is out and brighter than ever. Then why did it suddenly get so cold?
The tiredness suddenly becomes heavier and Parker sinks farther into the reclining pool chair, body numb, save the rubber strips digging into the skin as body falls deeper and deeper into the chair.
"Parker, let's go jump in the water." Yeah, that sounds good.
Parker tries to get up, but the rubber has melted from the sunshine and fused to the body, and the cloud has made itself comfortable, placing what seems its full weight upon Parker and the chair.
I can't get up. It all hurts. "That's OK, I think I'll stay out for a while longer. Catch up with you later."
Eyes closed again, Parker listens to the vibrant community of men, women and children coexisting in the chlorinated wonderland. The youthful incantations of joy and excitement fill the warm air, traveling on the brightness of the UV rays like the steep, windy slides one played on as a child. Laughter is so loud. It shouldn't hurt so badly, should it? Parker's eyes tighten, hands over ears. The air is alive.
A vibration moves through the metal bars of the chair and through Parker's body. The phone screen reads "Dad" with a message beneath it: When are you coming home?
Never. Later. I don't know, who cares? Suddenly, Parker is angry. The chill of the cloud has gone, but the heaviness remains and the laughter still hurts, and it leaves an aching feeling that radiates through Parker's skeleton. It is hot, I need air. But air is all around.
As Parker's friends return, inspiration strikes. "Let's go on a road trip."
"When? Where?" they ask.
"Right now. Anywhere." The looks on their faces tell of confusion and discomfort. Typical Parker, so spontaneous, so full of crap. "Or we could take a class: painting, shooting, horseback riding, guitar lessons, all of the above."
"Yeah, um, we are broke, Parker." Parker just stares, defeated, a nuclear current boiling within. I may explode any second. But Parker smiles instead and forces a laugh. Ow.
"I know, me too, but it would be fun, wouldn't it? To try something new? To live life by the moment?" Parker's friends grin and give a little sigh that says 'keep dreaming'.
I have to get out of here. "Shoot, I forgot I have chores to do. My parents will kill me. I gotta go, thanks for the invite to the pool!" Sitting up requires more strength than planned, and the rubber strips want Parker to stay forever. They rip skin where it once lay.
Parker scrambles to the car, but just sits there, key in the ignition, UV rays suffocating the life out of the air. Sweat tickles Parker's temple, the cloud covers the car. Once again, it takes ungodly strength to lift Parker's aching arm to turn the keys and start the car.
Pulling into the driveway, Parker's dad is in the yard. "Hey, did you get my text? You didn't have to rush home, just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. Why back so soon?" He lifts the corner of his mouth in a warm, kind smile.
Stop, please. "Too hot."
A burst of energy overcomes Parker and starts a giggling fit. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing, just happy", Parker replies.
What? Happy? What is wrong with me?
This is 30-ish minute look into the fictional life of a fictional Parker. This is a small, simplistic glimpse into the life of someone with bipolar disorder. Sadness, heaviness, silliness, impulsiveness, bitterness. It is all real and ever-changing.
It is unpredictable and illogical and unfair.
Parker is you. Parker is me. Parker is hard to understand for someone who has never felt this way.
If you are like Parker, hang in there. You are loved and you are seen and there is help to be had. If you know someone like Parker, love them with all of your might and hold them tightly in your heart because to be Parker is to be afraid of yourself. One never knows what one will feel, do or say next.
I understand this is abstract thinking. But thank you for sticking with me, all of you. Not just the ones reading this who are my friends and family, but the ones who read this whom I do not know. It is because of you that this works and that I work. Thank you for your bravery. Thank you for accepting me.
Thank you all for accepting Parker.
