As a person with bipolar disorder, I felt like myself is consists of millions of traumas and mental scars. It is like fragments, because I collect thoughts shuttling back and forth in conversations, pieces of words vagabonding on the Internet, and specks floating high in the air. Those fragments are an unstable scenery.They stretch out endlessly, brutally demonstrating to me they are true and only inside.They are accumulations over time, without the order of a story or novel. They are the feelings brought about by loss.They are pains, desires, and fantasies that fumble and tumble in our hearts, enabling us to feel dizziness in head and bitterness in mouth. It is a kind of unspeakable bitterness to have all sorts of things mixed and churned up in mind just like floating residuals.