I cut a pineapple a few weeks ago. I also did laundry, cooked meals for the family and even took the kids to the playground on the nice days. It was easy, I carefully sliced the pineapple diagonally, removing what my mother calls the ‘eyes’ then sliced them into neat equally sized squares for my children to devour. I was careful and methodical and planned every next cut. I was focused on that pineapple as I was on the other tasks that I performed for my family that day. The ants under my skin had left, the irritability dissipated into the air, I was sleeping the prescribed hours and preferred silence these days. I wasn’t incessantly talking or restlessly needing to jump out of my skin. I was ‘normal’ as was the goal with my episodes.

What the matter was, was that bipolar is mostly unpredictable, except in extreme circumstances to which the unpredictability value is invalid. Following the unpredictability, I live my life preparing for it. A list I keep next to the bed for all the counter measures for each of the afflictions, a note on my phone and hourly alarm reminders to breathe and pause. The medication I carry in my purse just in case I may need them while away from the safety of my home.

I live armed for the worst because the worst lurks in the lurches. Also with hope that pineapple days await me. This hope and expectation greases my gears on the regular. It makes the tough days bearable knowing pineapple days are coming.