Article voiceover
The mountain is there but it's obscured by low clouds and fog. Let's call it the ghost of a mountain. This late in life, 2/3rds of the way to the grave, I'm learning how to tell the difference between my simple joy and mania and between my simple sadness and depression. I still often get it wrong but now I can see that my childhood was more than pain and loneliness. I see how my bipolar disorder can easily turn everything into a ghost—into low clouds and fog. So here I am, an Indian man who's survived one thousand broken treaties with my brain and will survive one thousand more.
Hey, a slight rewrite only an hour after I posted the original. It came to me as I was driving home. I need to complete the circle that connects Mt. Rainier and my bipolar disorder.
The mountain has been a part of my life forever. As a child when it was obscured by clouds I always thought it was hiding.