My Happy Place

In February of 2014, I was admitted into the Pensacola Baptist hospital in Florida. I had been depressed for 2 years prior and I stayed inside with minimal social contact. I remember the thoughts that I'd either sleep or seize to exist. So I slept my life away.

When I was admitted, it was the lack of sleep that drove me into an inevitable manic episode. I was 18 years old at the time and I had never before felt myself slip so far from reality. I was a different person in that hospital. I didn't even know reality from the surreal.

I left the hospital a week later, only to see Dr. Edwards. He was an older man with an awkward demeanor from Montgomery, AL. He was my first psychiatrist, who diagnosed me with bipolar disorder. Dr. Edward's recommendations were multiple prescriptions, a good diet, a regular sleep schedule, extracurricular activities, and a healthy dose nature.

The easiest of these therapeutic remedies was nature. I have always loved being outside and listening to the birds. If I close my eyes I can still feel the grass between my fingers and the wind kissing my face.

My parent's yard has an area of mighty trees reaching for the stars. The trees are a mixture of pine and oak. I love to lay a blanket down under them. This is the place I write, sing, and cry. This is the place I'm happiest.

There is no one to judge me in such privacy. I can be myself and I can tap into my creativity. I can feed the birds their preferred choice of seeds and feel a sense of generosity towards mother nature. I can sit and meditate my worries away. I am always inspired sitting still in the place where my worries fade.

I am happiest in nature, where I am grounded and yet the world rotates on. The busy world is a walk away, but in that particular forest, I feel I have escaped. I feel free. I feel the happiness I have always craved.

- Amber Brooke Barlow