But why is mania bad, if it means you’re on top of the world, where everything is white? Bright. I wish I were up there now, instead of treading water in this damn blue hole. This magic pill won’t fly me there. It will only take me halfway, to what others call normal and I call gray – toeing a straight gray line is all medication is good for. Bad genes have doomed me to seesaw, white to blue and back again, for the rest of my pitiful life.