Being bipolar means living in 4D. Really more like 10D. It means seeing, hearing, and feeling in a dimension and on a level that mere words cannot express. An alternate language, another way separate from words would be needed to label and categorize the colors I see between the shades you do.
Being medicated means living in black and white. It means the reduction, and therefore the absence of, sensations. Everything is empty, open, clean. Too clean. Too quiet. I need my cluttered mind. I need to dig through my treasured collection of images, textures, and ideas until I find the piece that fits. I need that chaos.
Being bipolar means living in the most colorful, vivid, and beautifully varied junk shop you can't possibly even imagine. Being medicated means living in a minimalist Ikea showroom. A quiet, simple, sterile version of home. A house not really lived in. Everything in its own place, a nice and neat categorization of all the pieces of my life. All put away where I can't hear, feel, experience them all at the same time. I need to live the same way I make art- I need everything scattered around me, co-mingling, coming together and apart, getting lost and found again. I need that movement, that constant buzzing activity.
Being bipolar also means running until you puke because the emotional pain of anything sad is so excruciating that you have to physically move in the most destructive way your tortured brain can think of just to be able to cope. But isn't that a small price to pay for being myself? For being allowed to live in my own beautiful secret world? I can't even satisfactorily get across the idea of what you're trying to take away from me. You've never experienced it, so how can you know what it means to live without it?