Settle

November 2, 2015November 1, 2015 Ruby Pipes13 Comments

"Metamorphosis" © Viewminder, 2012. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0. — “Metamorphosis” © Viewminder, 2012. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

Things are getting quiet around here. The boxes are all broken down and we’ve hung the pictures on the walls. Moved in, but I still haven’t fallen into a proper schedule.

Consistency is key, I know this. I have to get up at the same time every day, go to bed at the same time every night. I have to get at least thirty minutes of exercise daily and eat around the same times. Bipolar disorder thrives on the sporadic. It amplifies the fluctuations, grabs hold to the moments I fall out of rhythm and pulls me hard in a dangerous direction.

It feels like I’m slipping. And then I blame myself for the slip. And guilt myself for the blame. One emotion cascading into the next until it’s everything I can do not to curl up on our new carpet and sob.

I imagine I am the Columbia River, pummeling through the gorge. I imagine I am Mount Hood, tearing up across an empty skyline. I imagine I am rainfall and mushrooms and moss. Powerful and peaceful and radiant. I imagine I am a free-floating seed, but only for a moment. Soon I will find roots again, create channels.

Grow.

Autobiography

Listen

October 29, 2015October 30, 2015 Ruby Pipes16 Comments

“Library books” © faungg’s photos, 2014. CC BY-ND 2.0.

On Tuesday I made my way to the library. Walked up and down each aisle, not picking up anything, just absorbing the calm, the quiet, the smell.

I’m still in awe of the peacefulness here. How I can hear the neighbor’s child play tetherball across the yard. Amazed by all the green space, all the leaves. When Mason and I went for our first walk I tugged on his shirt sleeve and said, “Look! Mushrooms! Something someone didn’t plant is growing.”

Yesterday morning I went running again. I paid close attention to my feet scuffing across the concrete. Watched and plumes of breath escape my mouth and rise up in front of me. I was still. I was quiet. I was only listening.

The rain plummeted through the leaves and made a sound I hadn’t heard since I was a kid. A dampened thunder, a promise of renewal crashing down. I stopped running and stood there in the dark. Arms outstretched, rain water mixing with sweat on my bare face and chest.

Something is growing. I just don’t know what yet.