Thank You For Being A Friend

Friendship is an incredibly important part of my life. Mainly because, in addition to family, it's my lifeline. And really, my best friends are family, if not actually related by blood.  The best therapy and medication couldn't save me if I didn't have my close friends and family. I'm positive about that.

Having a mental health condition adds a very interesting dimension to friendship: what do they know? What do they not know? What do they not want to know or acknowledge? The last one is the most essential. I write a blog, tweet, post, etc about my life with cyclothymia and I'm actually not particularly shy in talking about it, so it's not uncommon for people to know I have a condition. To me, though, the key to someone being a close friend is not them knowing. It's them accepting it, trying to understand, loving me just as much for my differences instead of despite them, and being there when I need them.

I have high standards of friendship. I know this. Quite honestly, I don't think it should be any other way. I feel that, in part, my condition demands this be the case. While I'm open about my condition, I do have some secrets, believe it or not - or at least things I haven't broadcasted to the world via blog post. If I trust someone with this information, I want to know that it's "safe". By which I mean they won't go telling other people, write some cryptic Facebook post or tweet, use it against me if we argue or ever are less close than we are at the present moment. This is particularly important if the friend is involved with other aspects of my life - part of an industry organization, a coworker, part of a group or club I'm involved in, etc. The bottom line is, there are still a lot of closed minded, ignorant people out there who don't or won't understand the truth about mental health, and I don't need any friends of mine adding fuel to the fire, either intentionally or unintentionally. Luckily, knock on wood, I've yet to encounter this, and I hope it stays that way.

In addition to the ability to trust people with whatever I tell them, I need to be able to trust people to be there for me and to understand. I get socially anxious, depressed, hypomanic, panic attacks, etc. I need friends who get this and the ramifications that go along with it. If I randomly burst into tears, ask me how you can help, and don't judge me. If my anxiety is too much for me to go to that social function, please understand - I am not trying to be dull or ruin your time, to isolate myself or be aloof. I physically am unable to go. Please get that. And maybe, occasionally, say "screw that big gathering" and offer to come over and have a glass of wine with me and talk in the comfort of my own home instead. Understand that I get hypomanic, and while it may draw attention, it's not intended to. I cannot help my energy and all that goes along with it - it is what it is.

So given all of this, what is a friend to me? A friend is someone who will reach out, instead of you having to always make the effort. They'll reach out for good as well as bad... they're not always asking something of you. They'll listen/be there for you when you reach out back. If they're local, they'll invite you to things without your being attached to anyone or anything else. If someone only reaches out in group form, I don't consider them a good friend. EXCEPTION:  People who deal with serious depression and anxiety have a very tough time reaching out. Sometimes, if they get the courage to do it, they reach out to several at people at once because it takes all of their energy and courage to do just that. I get this, and appreciate anything you can muster.

A friend is someone who notices when something's off. It might be the glazed over look in your eye that says "I'm turning inward because the anxiety in this setting is overwhelming". It could be the tone of a post or tweet that just doesn't feel quite right - "she didn't say anything was wrong, but I know her well enough...". A friend is someone who knows the right way to include you. If groups make you anxious, they suggest smaller settings. If they know certain topics are tough, they stay away from them. For me, a big one is including me actively without putting the spotlight on me... you all know by now how being the center of attention makes me feel. But, friends also understand that, because I think and see the world differently, it's very easy for me to feel like an outsider. Friends make sure that I don't, or do their best to.

I do want to be clear on one thing a friend is not:  they do not have to be someone I see in person. In fact, I have a friend that I consider a good friend that I've never actually met. We've gotten to know each other through twitter, FB, mental health groups, blogs, etc, and we now text, via app because we're not in the same country. She's one of the first people I reach out to when my condition gets really bad and I need someone who understands. Yet because of our logistics, we haven't had the chance to meet. To me, that doesn't make a bit of distance, she's still an amazing person and a great friend.

I know I have a lot of requirements for friends. But I think I'm worth it, and I deserve it. In fact, I think everyone deserves it. Life is too short to surround yourself with people who don't understand, support, cherish, and love the real you, and all of you. It's just that simple. I am so very lucky for the friends I have. You keep me going. You're wonderful. I love you.

Give Me All Your Money....

Ok, not all. Just a tiny bit.

It's not Giving Tuesday. In fact, it's not Tuesday at all. I totally missed that.... intentionally. I knew there were going to be so many solicitations for donations that I didn't even bother. Besides, this particular cause is one that is often incredibly personal, and people are either going to give to it because it's somehow affected them, do so to support me, or aren't going to at all, regardless of the day. Don't get me wrong, I have absolutely nothing against Giving Tuesday. It's head and shoulders above people having to miss their family Thanksgiving so that others can get a good deal on a big TV they don't need. In the grand scheme of Thanksgiving-week promotions, its certainly more noble than most. But I wasn't going to compete against it. I'd be lost in the mix.

If you've been reading my blog, or follow me on any social media, you probably know that this past summer, I completed the Overnight Out of Darkness Walk for suicide prevention. It's a 16-18 mile walk that starts at dusk and goes until whenever you finish 16 to 18 miles. This past year it took me about 5 hours. It was my first time participating in this event, and it was life-changing. Truly. It is the only fundraising/awareness event I've participated in, in which almost every single person is walking for someone that has been lost. Unlike other walks I've done, the opening ceremonies were, while inspirational, very sombre. There was no cheering for survivors, because in suicide, there are no survivors. Period. There are those who people have been "survived by", but that is no more uplifting. What is uplifting if I dare to apply that word anywhere near the topic of suicide, is that there is something that we, and I personally, can do about it.

End of the Philly Overnight, actually around 12:30 or 1 AM.

This year, I'll be walking in Boston. It's not for a while yet, but I want to raise as much as I can for this cause, so I'm starting early. A few weeks back, I posted on Facebook, asking this: if you were thinking of sending me a holiday card, I ask you to please instead donate the dollar or two it would cost you to my fundraising for the Overnight.  Too many people are not here celebrating with their families because they have taken their own lives. Too many families are spending the holidays without a mother, father, brother, sister, son, daughter, or friend that they've lost to suicide. Suicide does not discriminate between gender, economic class, ethnic background, or job title, which means that nobody is exempt from the possibility of being affected by it. So as much as I love getting cards and family photos at this time of year, giving them up to raise money for prevention and awarenes is the least I can do.

I figure that if all of my Facebook friends and blog readers could donate just a dollar or two, I will make my goal in no time. Here is my personal link. Of course, if you'd like to walk with me, volunteer to help with the event, or participate in any other way, that would be more than welcome as well.

Thank you, in advance, for any way that you can support this incredibly important cause, for me and for the people who are no longer here to support it themselves.

Luminaries, each lit for someone lost to suicide

For The Love Of Dog

Today is my Cinn's birthday! She's the big 1-0. Feels like just yesterday that she was an eight week old pup at a shelter dog adoption, wearing a bib that said "maybe your baby". I didn't choose Cinn, she chose me. I went over to the crib where she was laying with her nine brothers and sisters. The rest of the fluff balls dozed, barely glancing of at me as I approached. Not Cinn. She stood up and literally stepped over all of the other dogs to get to the side of the crib where I stood. I said on the spot, "I want that one".  At the time, I thought "she's got spirit, she is courageous and doesn't let anything - like stepping on her siblings - stand in the way!" Ten years later, I realize that I actually got a big baby, a gentle giant who's scared of such things as a strong breeze, plastic bags, and pink mopeds (yes, only the pink ones). I guess she must have just really known that day that I was meant to be her mama.

Cinn has been my constant companion and my best friend. When I got divorced, I asked for (read: demanded) just one thing - Cinn. She saw me restart my life after my marriage. She saw me get engaged a second time, then subsequently un-engaged.  She saw me through as I restarted my life a second time. She's seen me cry more tears than all of the humans in my life put together. She knows when I'm sad or when my depression is bad. She comes over to me, letting me pet her, quietly putting her face up to mine. "Mama, I'm here." She's heard more soliloquies than a Shakespearean theater company. Me practicing an important presentation, me thinking out loud over the day's events, me trying to sort out my ever-muddled brain.

Cinn rarely asks for anything. Often, even if she's hungry or in need of a bathroom break, I don't know... I only find out when I walk to the door or the food bowl and she starts jumping around and I think "oh no, has she not eaten/gone out today? What a terrible mom." Cinn never talks back, gives me a hard time, disagrees with me. She loves me unconditionally. Every single day for ten years, she's run to the door to greet me when I get home, whether I've been gone eight hours or eight minutes. I can't think of a human on earth that would be that happy at my arrival multiple times every day for a decade. This is nothing against the people in my life, but when was the last time a person jumped up and down animatedly, wagging their butt and trying to hug you when you'd just run to Wawa for ten minutes?

Cinn's a great "guard dog." She wouldn't hurt a fly - in fact I think she's afraid of them - but she's big, with a deep bark, and because she's scared of everything, her back hair stands up when she seems something unfamiliar.  She's particularly good for scaring off door to door salesmen and Jehovah's Witnesses ("Hello, I've come to talk to you about... JESUS CHRIST!").

I tell Cinn she has to live until she's at least twenty five, but I'm not sure that's something even Cinn's love for me, and mine for her, can make happen. It's sad to see her graying muzzle, how she gets up a bit more slowly, her back starting to sag. I realize that large breed dogs usually have a life span of about 14 to 15 years, and her turning ten is very difficult with me. Wasn't she just a pup? Yet I know life is all too short, for humans and canines alike, and I have to enjoy every minute with her that I have. I can't take her for granted, or think of her as "just a dog". She's my baby, my first "born", and always will be. She's been as good for my mental health as any therapy or medication, and I could never put that gratitude into words. So I'll simply say:  Happy Birthday, my beautiful Cinn, my baby girl. Mama loves you from the bottom of her heart. 

It's Not You, It's Me

I recently read a blog post on HealthyPlace.com entitled "I have Anxiety - I'm Not a Snob", by Gabe Howard. The title drew me in immediately. I could relate to the author before I even read a word - though of course I did read it in full and could relate even further. In his post, Howard describes the disconnect between how those with anxiety (and I'd venture to say many mental health conditions) feel, and what others think they see. This is something that I try to get across to people time and again, and I get so frustrated when I can't. Still, it prompted me to attempt this once more, to explain my feelings and actions for what they are, and not what others may stubbornly insist that they are.

I have social anxiety. In my case, it's not a separately diagnosed condition (though it is in others), but part of my life with cyclothymia. Most people, I'd venture to guess, would be very surprised to hear I am socially anxious. I'm an extrovert, or at least always have been, and once I get going I have a ton of energy and enthusiasm. The thing is, it takes me a lot to get going. The worst are situations in which others know each other quite well and I am only somewhat acquainted with them. However, unless I'm with my closest friends and family, or oddly, sometimes complete strangers who also don't know each other either, the anxiety is quite awful.

For social events, I often have to prepare mentally, emotionally, and physically for several days. By physically prepare, I don't mean spending extra time doing my hair and choosing my outfit.
Rather it's the racing heart, nervous stomach, occasional shortness of breath, headaches or migraines, often the onset of a depressive cycle, which brings extreme fatigue and exhaustion. Then, I have to prepare for how to interact. If I don't know people well, especially if they're close to each other, will they think I'm leeching on if I try to join the conversation? Will they notice my anxiety? My depression? Or worse, as Howard mentioned, will I appear like a disinterested snob? Will they think I'm a drain, no fun, uptight? If I actually gain some confidence and my natural excitable personality surfaces, will I come across as loud, annoying, hyper?

But wait, there's more! Believe it or not, my anxiety isn't the most troubling. There's also the fact that my depressive spells make me completely unable to value my own worth, It appears to me that everyone is better at everything than me - more fun, more likable, more talented, better looking, more successful. As you can imagine, this doesn't make going into a social engagement that you're already nervous about better. A very important note here: this is NOT jealousy. It's not me moping around, thinking negatively, needing an attitude adjustment. It's that my brain is hard-wired to react this way. Plain and simple. Depression seems to siphon out the ability for positive self-thought. So when I'm sad, or aloof, or despondent, or teary-eyed for reasons others can't understand, when I don't want to interact or do something social, it's not that I'm a jealous, high-strung, uninterested grinch who wants to ruin your time.

Finally, there's the hypomania. Oh, my love-hate relationship with hypomania. Occassionally, it does help me to have the confidence of an averagely-confident person which, I'll admit, feels wonderful. And being not depressed, that feels wonderful too. But mostly, as I've described it so many times before, it makes me feel like a drank a whole pot - not cup, pot - of coffee on an empty stomach. I feel even more anxious than usual. I'm jittery, unable to sit still. I babble on, knowing I'll later be horribly embarrassed but feeling like physically I cannot stop. Trust me, as much as it may bother you, it bothers me more. Now, as with depression, let me tell you what hypomania is not. It is NOT attention-seeking activity. As you may have guessed from my description of social anxiety, I hate attention. I actually feel nervous when people, other than very close friends and loved ones, look at me. Yes, just looking at me makes me feel like I'm getting too much attention. I have to fight every instinct to not turn away, embarrassed. Hypomania might bring attention to me, for better or (more often) for worse, but it is not intentional attention-seeking behavior.

So next time you think someone with a mental health condition is snobbish, a stick in the mud, too uptight, too hyper, too jealous, trying to ruin your fun, attention-seeking.... please remember what I've just written above, and consider how much they're going through just to participate in a normal social situation. Perhaps, as Howard suggests in his post, one day I'll be able to say "I'm sorry, my mental health condition is acting up, I apologize for my social awkwardness, please don't take offense." But we are far from that day sadly, so please, try to understand what we might be dealing with.

Now, I bet you all can't wait to invite me to your next party!

The Facts of Life

I sometimes worry at times that people think I'm putting on a facade - that I appear to be handling everything well and able to help other because of how well I'm coping, when really I'm one big giant mess. I want to assure people that this is not the case - the facade, that is. The big giant mess part is up for interpretation, I suppose. Therefore, I thought I would muster up every single bit of courage I have, and write a dead-honest blog about myself, including the worst bits of me, without ignoring the positives completely. I never want to be accused of putting on a show, or of people not knowing who I really am. Of course, my view of myself is just that - my view. But I'm going to try to incorporate those things others have observed to me as well, to try to be as completely, brutally honest as I can.

I am not crazy. Sometimes, though, I act crazy. Observers, or even those close to me, might want to label me as such. My condition makes me particularly emotional, meaning small things seem bigger, and meaning that I can spiral out of control. Not like "running down the street in my underwear wielding a machete" out of control. More like 'this should not be a big deal but for me it feels like it's crushing' out of control. I have been known to fall to pieces crying in the corner, to get so angry I punch a pillow (an action advised by therapists for getting anger and hypomanic energy out that in no way indicates violent tendencies in a person), to yell or scream just to feel some sort of release from internal turmoil, to be such a bundle of nerves that I can't think that my situation will get better, to say things in an overly emotional moment that I barely realize I'm saying and later regret, to beg and plead for the forgiveness of all of the above. I often can't let things go and step away, feeling absolutely desperate to resolve things right that minute, despite knowing that just shutting up and walking away is logically best.

In general, I often talk to loud and too much - though this might just be me naturally, and not my condition - and because of this, have be accused of trying to focus attention on myself. In reality, I absolutely hate attention, especially in groups, and have trouble even looking people in the eye if I don't know them really well.

I have depressed days -  days where I don't want to move, where I feel like I'll never amount to anything and that nobody actually loves or likes me other than my closest family. I have, lately, a ton of social anxiety, constantly feeling like people don't actually want me around, are talking about me behind my back, or otherwise wish I wasn't in their company. I often have to emotionally prepare myself well in advance for even the most basic social gathering.

Where relationships are concerned, well...  I'm divorced and un-engaged (two different scenarios). I have, in the past, been abused in numerous ways, and in this respect am quite "damaged", for lack of a better word. I'm not saying this for sympathy, but rather to say, as I phrased it in the beginning, "I can be a big giant mess". I have trust issues, and confidence issues. Major, major confidence issues, as well as self esteem issues. I feel I've often brought out the worst in people, and I feel awful in doing so, but don't know how not to do it. I can be emotionally demanding because, let's face it, people with depression, hypomania, general and social anxiety need a lot of emotional support at times.

I'm not cool. I've written a whole blog about my lack of coolness, in fact. I'm not chill or overly laid back, though I'm not as high strung as I often appear - the fact that I talk loudly, fast, and frequently often makes me appeared worried/anxious/stressed about something when really, I just like to converse. I often do my best thinking out loud, and while I probably sound and look a bit like a Hollywood's version of 'crazy', I'm not talking to any imaginary friends or voices, I'm just sorting out my thoughts. Often, I'm actually reciting parts of my novel to see if they sound as good as I think they do when I write them.  I'll admit, however, that this is unfortunate for others who might be in the room at the time.

I'm not ashamed that I have a condition, because it is a medical condition that I was born with, just like others have heart conditions or respiratory disorders. But I do, at times, do and say plenty that I'm ashamed of when I am no longer hypomanic.

I am, however, not void of virtues and positive attributes. When it comes to loved ones, I'm fiercely loyal. I would literally throw myself in front of a speeding truck in order to save someone I love. I would also defend someone I love to the death, even if I don't necessarily agree with their specific action.  I have a big heart. I focus so much on love, desire and need it so much, that I think I tend to be led by it, and to it, at all costs. I would rather live in a cardboard box with someone I love than a mansion by myself. I admit it makes me emotionally high maintenance, but it's nothing that I'm not ready to give back. I don't think anyone could accuse me of being a materialist person (those five star hotels once in a while don't really count, right? We all have our vices).

I love to laugh. I have a somewhat dry sense of humor, and friendly banter is one of my favorite forms of communication. I can be silly, though I usually have to know you well to feel comfortable doing so. I have trucker's mouth, but it's all in good fun - I'm not so rough around the edges as I might sound when I'm frustrated or just can't find another word to say. I love to sing and dance, and if anyone ever secretly filmed me, they'd probably catch me embarrassingly singing to my dog and substituting words to make the song appropriate to her.

I am, at the core, a good person. I do not believe, even at my lowest, when I am in a horrible depression with no confidence at all, that anyone could truly convince me otherwise. I'm in no way perfect, not at all. But in my heart, I am a good person. It is the thing I hold onto most when I feel I have nothing else.

So there you have it. This is me, the best way I can describe myself honestly. I'm not trying to be negative, nor am I trying to say "yes, there's bad, but look how much more good." I'm not trying to convince anyone of anything.  I'm simply trying to say that I know who I am, for better or worse, and I never want to be accused otherwise. I've pretty much been the same for the past thirty five years, and probably be the same for the next thirty five. I don't hide who I am behind some facade or fake persona. This is me. I'm not an easy person, and some people might think I'm worth the effort, while others may not. Such is life, and I cannot deny it. If you are one of those people who does feel I'm worth it then, well, I think you're worth it too. 

Things You Want To Know About Mental Health But Are Afraid To Ask

When I tell people that I have cyclothymia and/or that I write a blog that focuses on mental health, I get a wide variety of reactions. Many people tell me that I'm courageous for being open and honest about my condition. Others just kind of nod and make some comment about how their best friend's cousin had depression, or how they tried to write a blog about xyz but couldn't get into it. A few awkwardly look at me and are probably calculating whether or not they think I'm "crazy" (society's term, not mine).  For the record, I'm not. Overall, though, I think there are a lot of questions that people have about mental health but are afraid to ask. Whether they are dealing with a condition themselves, or think they may be, or they have a friend or loved one that's been diagnosed, or they're just downright curious, mental health can be a daunting subject to many. I totally understand. It's been too taboo of a subject for entirely too long, and it's tough to get away from that, even with the best of intentions. So I thought I'd write a blog of things that people may want to know but are afraid to ask. As usual, these are in no order, other than the ones which they came into my brain.

1. Do you ever feel "crazy"?/Do you ever feel "normal"? Yes, to both. Well, let me rephrase. I don't really know what either feels like per se, because really both terms are in the eye of the beholder. But do I ever feel like I want to make my brain work one way but have a hard time doing so, even with meds? Yes, I do. It sucks. It sucks even more because I'm aware of it when it's happening, but feel helpless. Do I ever not feel cyclothymic (i.e. depressed or hypomanic)? Yes, surprisingly more than one might think. I'm not always up or down. I'm often somewhere in the middle. I guess you'd call that normal.

2. How did you feel when you were diagnosed? Relieved, scared, worried, sad, curious, slightly peaceful and hopeful. It was a complete mix of just about every emotion one can feel at once. A lot of people think being diagnosed is awful. In reality, it allows you to finally focus on what's going on, create a treatment plan, and get to it. It's way better than doctors randomly throwing inappropriate meds your way and having uninformed people tell you that if you just smile and have a positive attitude, you'll feel better.

3. Is having cyclothymia (insert condition) tough? Can you still live a normal life? I'm not going to lie, it's rough. Some days, it's downright awful. But please, stop using the word "normal". It's a setting on the dryer, nothing else. We are all unique creatures. My unique makeup happens to include this condition. I've had it since birth. I managed to get through college and grad school with 3.8+ GPAs; I run my own company and work a part time job at a conference center; I am a certified personal trainer and group fitness instructor; I have a good group of friends and a close family; I'm a published author and now working on my first novel. If you call that normal, then I suppose that answer is yes.

4. Can mental health conditions be cured? There's debate on this, both among mental health professionals and those diagnosed. In my opinion and my experience, no. Conditions can be better or worse; they can be managed successfully and you can live a successful, fulfilling life, but it doesn't go away. It might go into remission, but it doesn't disappear forever. That said, I'm not a mental health professional and I suggest everyone ask their treating professionals about their own condition. But personally, I was born with my condition and will die with it, and that's that. It's tough to come to terms with, but once you do, the pressure of "curing yourself" is off, and honestly, that's kind of a relief.

5. Does mental health impact your relationships?  Absolutely. I relate to the world differently. I often don't understand others and they don't understand me. They don't know what it feels like, and I can't put it into words at times. It's frustrating as hell, both to me, and to them. I honestly think anyone who said that it doesn't affect their relationships in some way or another would be lying. But it's completely possible to have a successful and happy relationship with someone with a mental health condition. Anyone who said that it's not would also be lying.

6. Does mental health affect the.... "romantic"... part of your relationships? (Earmuffs/blindfolds, family/colleagues/anyone who doesn't want to read the answer to this). Personally, no. Generally, it could. First off, depression makes you not interested in anything. Anything. That includes whatever goes on behind closed doors. It makes you want to lie in bed, and only lie in bed, until it passes. Also, certain meds can "decrease libido," to use the official phrase. Not all meds, just some. This is very personal to each individual, and if you ask ten people you'll probably get ten different answers. If it's a concern (and I'm guessing it probably is to most people), talk to your prescribing doctor about choosing meds without this side effect, or at least combating it. It may not be possible, but it's worth a try.

7. Do meds make you gain weight? Again, they can, but don't necessarily. If you are concerned about this, let your doctor know. I told my doctor I didn't want a med that caused weight gain and we worked around it. Hopefully, it's possible for you to do also.


8. Do you ever do things when in a rough state that you are later embarrassed/ashamed/frustrated with/mad at yourself about? If I got a nickel every time this happened, I could retire tomorrow (and I'm 35). Just remember, everyone does this from time to time. People do things when they're mad, tired, drunk, had a bad day at work, etc. Nobody's perfect. You are not your condition. You have a condition. Expect to have  "oh crap why did I say/do that" episodes, and possibly more than those without conditions, but don't let others make you a scapegoat for everything, and don't take all the blame. I find it helpful to give people a heads up that I'm having a "rough day". This tends to soften anything you might say/do that you later wish you hadn't, both to others and to yourself. When it does happen, acknowledge it, apologize if necessary, and move on.

9. Do you ever want to give up? Yes, but don't do it. It's as simple, and as complicated, as that. Take it hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second, if you have to. But please, don't give up. People think mental health can't be fatal. They're wrong. Some days, every second is an internal struggle. Keep plugging along.

Have other questions? Feel free to ask me personally, if you don't want to ask them in the comments. Of course, comments are always welcome too.

Rhythm of the Rain

Wow, it's really been several weeks since I've written. I was on such a roll, but maybe I expended all of my blog writing energy in the end of September. Actually, I've been ridiculously busy with work - both my company and at the museum - which I say in the best possible way. I am one of those people who loves to be busy, and it makes my down time feel that much sweeter.

It's Saturday morning and I'm enjoying one of those much relished down times. Everyone else in the house is asleep, and I'm sitting at the dining room table writing and listening to the rain. It's incredibly peaceful, and it in fact is what inspired me to write.

I'm traditionally a sun worshipper. I love all things warm and sunny, and particularly dislike cold, dreary days. I assume I'm not alone in this. However, as I've gotten older, and perhaps as cyclothymia has played more of a role in my every day life, I have noticed a few shifts in myself. I certainly still mind the rain if it's going to ruin outdoor plans (or my daily commute), or if it continues for days on end and I start getting cabin fever, get the urge to build an arc, etc. But on most other occasions, I've lately enjoyed the rain. There's something melodic about hearing it beat on the windows and the roof. It draws me in, as if it's a meditation metronome, forcing me to just focus on the sound and quiet my brain. Maybe it's relaxing in that it provides the perfect excuse for not doing much. If it's warm and sunny, I feel lazy if I sit around in my pajamas writing, reading and drinking coffee. If it's raining and dreary, it seems perfectly ok to say "well, what else could I do really? Guess I'll just relax". Why work on the computer isn't possible in the rain, I don't know, but somehow, it seems an excuse for pushing even that aside.

Perhaps some of it is nostalgia. Rain in the car, especially at night (and especially when I'm not the one driving) reminds me of childhood trips to Buffalo to see my grandmother. We always left after work and drove through the night, arriving around 2 AM. It seemed no trip was complete without hearing rain on car windows and the sound of the tires rolling through water left on the roads.  I have a flashback to those trips, us pulling off at some local exit, probably in Cortland, Binghamton, Syracuse, to grab fast food at 11 PM because it was the only thing open. Riding in the car in the rain at night immediately makes me want to curl up in the back seat with my blanket and pillow and play the license plate game until I fall asleep. I usually don't do this at the request of my fellow travel companion(s), and these days I get queasy in the back seat, but if I could, I probably would.

I've noticed this same shift lately in my appreciation of the countryside and nature in general. Lately, I've longed to be outside hiking, or kayaking, or just listening to the sounds of the birds and the crickets (but not the bears). I've loved being away from technology, in places where I can't even get a phone signal - albeit for a limited time of a day or two. Don't get me wrong, I still love the hustle and bustle of the city. But escaping to places where you feel like you can't help but unwind, put down your electronics, and actually relax and communicate with each other in person, is something I've been enjoying more and more.

I wonder if much of this shift has to do with all of the nonsense that goes on in my brain daily. And by nonsense, I mean cycling. Perhaps the inability to escape constant stimulation internally makes me desire it that much more externally. My brain actually feels quieter when I'm sitting here writing with the rain rapping on the windows, or when I'm hiking with only the sounds of nature and the voices of the people I'm with. Maybe it's simply age that helps me appreciate the ability to slow down. Whatever it is, I need to follow it. It makes me calmer, more peaceful, and miraculously almost makes me feel like a normal human being. If you've ever felt hypomanic, you know how amazing it feels not to be - and not only to eliminate hypomania for a few moments, but to do so by being peaceful, rather than by being depressed.

So I think I'll sign off and enjoy this rainy contemplation while I can. I'm looking forward to plans with friends a little later, but for now, I'll let myself sip coffee in my pajamas and detach.