The Nightly Cycle

Let's get real isn't all roses and daisies and dreams coming true every day. 
We can't forget that the lows teach us how to better appreciate the highs. Up next is a short
written by a friend of mine that "vaguely and briefly describes [her] experience living with manic depression
in a small mountain town." I hope Kate's words can be of comfort to those of us that can relate, and
maybe be a bit of inspiration to pursue writing as an outlet for our thoughts if we need it.


The night has just begun and already the room is warming up. Despite feelings of exhaustion from the daily mountain ritual, the crowd manages to enjoy the crappy pop song blaring from the jukebox. I make my way through the blur to engage with a familiar face. I smile hoping for a miracle. He’s generous with the pour knowing I am far too broke for the top shelf, and in time I am comfortably sedated.

Slowly I tune out the noise, the feelings, and the reason I stay awake at night.

Hours later my head is throbbing and my heart is on fire. What was intended to only be one ended up being three, or four, or five.. or six if you count that shot..

At a whirlwind pace I lose myself in another day, operating on minutes of sleep. My second shift has barely started and already I am thinking about my escape.

Not much longer I am back. With a smile plastered across my face, I cleverly hide the chaos beneath.

The high only lasts so long before the lack of sleep and overuse begins to take its toll. The lender has come to collect his debt. One over-analyzed comment later and I am unrecognizable, held captive by my own thoughts.

As I watch the seconds drag I find myself aching for it to stop. My existence feels cumbersome and I question my ability to maintain. The requests to join the nightly ritual go unanswered. I am paralyzed between the sheets.

The cycle continues like a sick joke designed to entertain the divine. Desperately I derail my career and ruin any chance of conserving a healthy relationship. The street signs flash as the speed creeps beyond the limit. My knuckles are white against the black interior.

Under the night sky, with nothing but the moon and silence for company, I breath in the cold, desert air. I exhale with relief as I trace the stars with my fingers, and in time I am comfortably aware.

Slowly I accept the noise, the feelings, and the reason I stay awake at night.



What is the route to happiness?

Honestly, I have no idea. I can barely answer the question for myself. There is no specific answer, no direct route, no magic box that can be opened up to a world of wonder.
However, it is possible. I’ve seen it in others – I’ve seen it in myself.

Follow along with me.

I guarantee the fumbles will inspire you just as much as my next adventure.


Kate has a great way of writing like she is talking right to you, which portrays her thoughts
very honestly. Follow along on her blog Route Happiness for more insight and inspiration.


Life, StoriesKateComment