My house backs onto green space. It’s a hydroelectric substation easement and therefore will never be developed. On the other side of the easement is farmland with a reasonably-sized wetland park bordering the reserve on the west.

Nature, where I live, isn’t quiet. Sometimes, that pisses me off – I love desert quiet – but mostly I love the music. The only thing that could make it better would be the sound of moving water – a river, the tide – but close to perfect is good enough.

I mostly ignore the highway sounds.

Sometimes, the early and determined cheerfulness of the birds irritates me. They start singing a bit before sunrise and sometimes, I’m not in the mood. That’s mostly when I’ve had a bad night’s sleep. Otherwise, I sleep right on through. Birdsong doesn’t wake me until I’m ready.

The morning music is a symphony of chirps and calls. Some I’ve learned to recognize and can parse out, others are still anonymous symphony seats. I easily recognize the robins, the juncos, and the hummingbirds. Crows and blue jays are also easy – corvids don’t have lovely voices – but they seem to sleep late. The swallows aren’t just singing, they’re out in the yard, pecking at bugs in the grass as they warble away.

I don’t easily recognize the towhee’s song – I’ve yet to pick it out in the wild. I love those little birds. They’re big little birds, approaching medium size, and their red eyes amuse me. They play on my deck in the winter when it snows, eating seeds and getting bossed by birds half their size.

I love how the different songs and calls blend without any coordinated effort on the part of the birds. Spontaneous symphonies, no conductor required.

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I had a bad day yesterday. Depression is cyclic even in recovery and yesterday we mostly headed down. I either blew up parts of my life or stood firm with my boundaries, perhaps a little of both.

I withdrew from the group chat with the “friends” who ignore me most of the time. We didn’t do a thing this year for my birthday at the beginning of the month because I was honest.

I told my friends I was really struggling. I talked about the various challenges of fostering, my stepdaughter, and my mother’s ongoing ill health. I mentioned my broken tooth. I said I wasn’t really up for a celebration right now. I mentioned that my mood was dark. And while I got a “thanks for sharing,” what I’ve received subsequently is silence.

I’m bad at believing people when they show me.

I also held the line with my stepdaughter. I pulled the trigger and gave her a deadline to pick up her things. I also refused again to move forward without addressing what was said and done. I got a “not now, probably not ever, things are really hard for me right now so you’ll have to do it my way,” so that sucked.

And it’s likely true. She’s had a lot of hard things happen to her in her life. But nothing changes if nothing changes, and she’s still not doing counselling.

I feel like a monster for saying no to visits with my grandson. I’m afraid to call him my grandson anymore. She suggested his grandfather, my ex, could bring him for visits. But I have no faith that she won’t cut me off and ghost me again.

She’s allowed to, of course. What she doesn’t seem to understand is I’m also allowed to make choices to protect myself.

But boundaries mostly make me feel vindictive. I wish there was an ultimate adult authority one could check one’s choices with. I don’t like that part of growing up – putting me in charge is clearly a mistake.

I also don’t like social media memes and soundbite articles that suggest the cures for mental illnesses are walks in the woods and adequate hydration. I don’t like the simplification and judgment in those kinds of posts. Mental illness is complex.

That being said, nature helps. It’s not an answer, but it’s an aid, at least for me when I can’t stand the feelings in my head. And water almost never does anyone wrong.

The listening to. “In” is another matter. Don’t get drowned. That happens to too many in BC in the summer. Respect water. It demands it.

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There’s a bench in my backyard under the deck. I like to sit there. I sometimes wish I still smoked since it’s a good smoking location. The neat thing about smoking is that it allows you to escape and take a break when you need it. We don’t react as positively to people just taking five minutes for themself every hour or so.

I go outside and I sit and I listen. I play with my posture some because when I slump, my inside voice metaphorically punches me in the stomach, but that’s only an issue for the first few minutes. It’s like jogging or meditation – the first few minutes are a bitch but if you push through, you’ll find yourself in the zone.

I can feel a breeze on my face as I sit and that’s calming too. The birds are singing, and they sound happy, so I calm more. My brain tries to get busy with maladaptive daydreaming that’s so prevalent these days, another slightly pathological trait that mostly leads nowhere good, but it’s mostly outgunned by desirable input.

Unless it’s raining. Then I listen to the music of the drops. The birds are quiet when it rains.

But it hasn’t rained much here of late, so I visit the birds throughout the day. I don’t like what goes on in my brain a lot of the time. It’s ugly and it’s tiring. Nature provides a calm that can ease things for a time, and those respites are enough to keep me going.

Nature’s not a cure. Think of it like a supplement.

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