Reading is a passion I have carried with me through the years. I like to read a variety of materials. When I read, I find once I have found a writer’s voice, I am hooked into their story. I guess I have to “feel it.” If I don’t connect with the writer’s expression I become uninterested. Once connected, however, it is with fervor that I devour a writer’s words. I count my love for reading as one of the sustaining values I have for myself. To make even the smallest attachment to the author I am reading edifies my mind.
Viewing my journey with bipolar disorder along with the fortitude reading brings, I find myself thinking about the voice I carry it all with. I wonder if I have found my voice. I ponder how much of a say the illness has in my thinking. Considering the worry of its return, the revelation of its occurrence to others, and the inevitable realization it will always be with me, diminishes that voice. Yet, finding even the smallest voice within means hope. It is the quiet urge helping me to create the chapters of my life. I believe the fullness of my voice is still developing. The journey to its being actualized is sometimes hard. Even with it’s smallness, I know finding connection to my voice will not fail me and continue to bring peace to an unsettled mind.