Rain

bulldyke's picture

Rain drips down the drainpipe just outside my second story window, striking counterpoint to the gurgle of water in the storm gutters. A car drives by a few streets away, it's tires unmistakable against wet asphault. Trees rustle in the slight breeze, shedding their reddened leaves onto neatly mown lawns.
More drip now, less gurgle. When I first moved here, the sound kept me awake at night, now, it's my favorite lullaby.
I'm tired, but sleep is ellusive. If I don't fall asleep, then I won't have to wake up tomorrow. It's a sure sign that depression is on the horizon, but I can't quite muster the energy to do something about it.
This is a night for lovers, for curling up together under warm blankets and whispering sweet secrets in the shelter of the dark.
I remember watching the rain fall one night, with someone special. I don't remember if I knew then or not.
Rain is bittersweet. I love the cool freshness of it, but loathe the darkness it brings. Darkness that is echoed in my mind. Every winter, I battle the ever present depression that threatens. It looms closer with every passing day, butting it's ugly head into every thought that enters my head. I fight and fight and fight, but sometimes, somtimes it's too much, and I so loathe asking for help.
Each winter I say will be different. Each winter since that first one, when the darkness ate away at me until there was almost nothing left, I say I'll do better. I'll stay strong, and fight it off. Maybe this will be that winter. It's different, and yet the same. Same weather, same house, same life, but no school. No tests, no groups, no pressure to do well.
The rain ebbs and flows outside my open window. Cool air wafts through my room. I am almost, but not quite too warm under my quilt and fleece.
My mind is numb with sleep, but I cannot give in yet. To sleep is to dream, and I'm not ready to face that yet. Not ready to face the nightmares, or worse, Her.
I can hear the water rush down the gutters into the stormdrain on the street below. The distant, muted roar of traffic on the highway is so normal, I can only hear it when I listen. Rain cloaks the world outside, blurring the yellow streetlights.
Late nights are no stranger to me. Books are my best friend, relief from my mind. I fear the beast that lurks inside, but as always don't know how to fight.
The headache stabs at me, a piercing pain above my left eye that comes and goes at it's liesure.
The water is soothing in a primal way. It eases something inside me that I didn't know was tight. The world is cold, but the cool settles me, reminds me to look inside.
I'm so tired...I want to read more, write more, but I don't want to think. I want my mind to go away and leave me in peace. I wish for a storm, a real storm, with howling winds and sheets of piercing rain. A storm might clear the shadows in my head, might empty me for new possibilities.
Rain must do for now. The rain is wonderful, peaceful, calming. It sings a silent song to me and reminds me of something I didn't know I'd forgotten. Every winter is the same, but every year I somehow forget.