“She has blue eyes.” That was the first thing my dad said about me when I was born. He had blue eyes. It deeply saddens me to think that he was already looking for something that we had in common from the first moment he saw me.
All babies have blue eyes at birth, but mine turned hazel. As long as he lived, my dad never knew that we actually did have something in common. We both had bipolar disorder.
When I was a kid, my mom told me that my dad had “manic depression.” To me, that brought to mind a pot of boiling water with the lid vibrating and steam escaping, ready to explode at any moment.