On Reading

I read a lot.  I can manage a book a day.  And I enjoy every turn of the page.  I love shopping for books, libraries, seeing what’s new, finding old favourites.  I love the way books smell and the feel of a solid block of paper in my hands.  I love looking at their covers and relating what I see there to what I’ve read inside.  Books might actually be better than chocolate!

But reading has a serious side for me.  I have mental health issues (Atypical Bipolar, if you really want to know) and reading has become my best non-medicinal way of managing the symptoms, especially anxiety.  I find a book, find a cat, find a comfy seat and dig in to the words until the ‘bad feelings’ go away.  Sometimes it takes days – every time I stop reading those feelings come back until I start again.  Actually, I’m just coming out of such a phase now.

At these times, it’s the way I read rather than what I read that’s important.  It doesn’t matter if I retain the author’s message or not.  What matters is my eyes travelling over the words, my mind making sense of them and my hands turning the pages.  When I start getting all caught-up in those feelings, I bring my attention back to the printed page.  I guess it’s a bit like meditation when you keep gently returning your focus to your breath (or other object of meditation).

Of course, I don’t just read to ‘medicate’ myself.  I read because I love it.  I have done since before I could read.  Well, I loved books and pictures and being read to.  I knew Cinderella by heart.  I learned to read when I was four and never looked back.  My home is full of books.  They’re on shelves, in bookcases, in piles.  Yes, I know I have too many.  But (most of the time) I read the book once and send it on to another via BookMooch.  Unfortunately, I also make new acquisitions through that site!

I think most people have something they turn to in times of stress.  They smoke, they eat, they watch endless soap-operas.  I’m happy with my method of coping.  What’s yours?