The ending of Summer, the beginning of Fall brings anxiety for me. It represents the decline of hypomania and the rise of depression. Both in their own ways are beautiful and have life. They also bring their own realities that clash with the one that society decides is “correct”. And when I am in either one I see noting but the state I’m in.

For me to see my Mother’s deterioration as the old feeling of disquiet increases heightens the surreal quality of the balance of my mind. This period between full depression and dogged (for me,) determination is a chance to enjoy the smokiness of the New England Season. My birthday heralds in the Autumn. The thumping apples as the leave the trees sounds finality that another harvest comes to an end. Warm blankets and hot drinks, closed windows and bundled bodies can be enjoyed before they become de rigueur and rank. Summer usually comes back for a day but not the night and the change over is enjoyed, people go outside, light is changing but not overwhelmed with darkness yet as it is in Winter.

Our house is peaceful with a forced peace of stillness and hush for illness. It seems never ending. I know it will only go on for so long but to come into the house it feels as if everything holds it’s breath. Even the cats don’t play. My chest is congested with pregnant waiting. No birth to anticipate but a new life absent of one of the few people who was able to tolerate me. Who I can say even loved me. The loss changes everything this world means to me. I expect little positive to happen but must work to plan for promising future events.

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