Pluviophile

1| I find peace in the rain / Ember P.O.V

               

I find peace in the rain.  Well, not exactly peace; more like a dulling of the internal rain. The puddles on the ground waver, the ground unwilling to accept it; just like me, my inability to connect with people, this depression that constantly threatens to pull me under, the anxiety that isolates me. These puddles are excess, pools that aren't accepted yet refuse to disappear. The hammering rain enlarges them, making them even more unlikely to fade, the thunder echoing my own. But this earthly down pouring outdoes my mental one, overshadows it, and mutes my metal struggle for a little while.

It's ironic really, that a girl called Ember loves the rain so much. It's even more of a twisted joke that my parents have both made major scientific breakthroughs with mental illnesses, but here I was, their daughter, suffering from two. The rest of my family is sane. Well, last time I checked. I haven't really properly spoken to them in about three years. I avoid people in general. They're too loud, too brass. I just skulk around, talking as least I can to get by. Every time I tell someone what it's like to feel like you're drowning in your own mind, I get a touch of sympathy, diluted under a wave of 'it could be worse'. So I've just learnt to shut everyone out.

When I was thirteen, anxiety overcame me. When I was fourteen, we moved across the country. When I was fifteen, I was diagnosed with depression. And when I was eighteen, I had given up on letting people in. The only person I had ever fully spoken too was Ash, but now even he was gone. Everyone said he was a bad influence because he had schizophrenia. Doctors, parents, specialists, psychologists. But he knew what it was like, these diseases that plagued us. He knew depression wasn't as simple as 'just be happy'. His sister had committed suicide because of it. We were quite a pair, with mental illness and sorry excuses for back-story. But then he was hospitalized, and I never saw him again.