Rain is falling, which is a good thing, at least I think so.
And yes, I love it this way. It’s raining outside and all is quiet.
I think we can talk best on days like today.
But rain falls for more than one purpose.
I have been told about the dryness and the possibility of fires which is due to the absence of rain.  

I understand this.
I also understand the tensions and strains of life, which can be tough sometimes.
I know what it feels like when the pressures around us build up to a point where the smallest thing can detonate the heart and cause us to explode.

Like . . . BOOM!

I suppose I have always wanted to be this way. As in, the way I am now or the way I am here, when I am alone or here with you. I never wanted to be tough or to be so brave or brazen or as if to walk or be without shame.
Besides, who is brave? Or what is bravery anyway?
I never wanted to walk as if I were a force to be reckoned with or as if I had to walk with a lean or slant to show that I am trigger capable and battle proven.
Yes, I have scars. Some are visible and some are invisible or undetectable to others or unseeable to the blind eye.

Who wants to be common? Who wants to be plain? Or who wants to be ordinary with nothing about you to stand out or to be bright or noticeable?
Who wants to be boring or humdrum? Who wants to be unwanted to the point where your life is about as interesting as a mandatory continuing education class at work.
Or who wants to be as much fun as an insurance seminar?
I can say this because I have been witness to both. So I can say this with authority—no one wants to be plain or tasteless. Nobody wants to be bland. We all want to have something. We want to have our own spice or flavor. I know I do.
We want to be noticed and wanted and more than just included, we want to be valued and desired. Or again, at least I do.

Ah, youth. Or should I say rebellious youth?
Or maybe I should call this my crazy youth or the wild times, or wild as ever, at least they were to me, or so they seemed.
I was young once. This might have been a long time ago or another lifetime. Or maybe this was another person or, to me, I sometimes view my youth as if it were a movie that played in a strange movie house. I was like a patron to the theater and living in a neighborhood that seemed as if it were in a storybook somewhere.

I have been searching for something for so long. This is an answer and a solution. But also, I have been searching for a remedy. I have been looking for a response to an otherwise sense of being.
I want something “more.”
I want something better.
I want to feel . . .
This is more than a great escape, by the way. This is more than a feeling of momentary bliss or an answer to an unbalanced life or imperfect chemistry.
I mention both the imbalance and imperfection of our chemistry with a great purpose. However, as a person who identifies with different challenges that range from depression to anxiety, I realize that I am no different nor am I as challenged as certain diagnosis or professional labels have led me to believe.