My troubles with rain

Trigger warning for discussion of suicidal thoughts. 

There is a big porch at my grandparents' house in Ohio, big enough to fit a whole group of friends and relatives in a circle for visiting and ice-cream eating on summer afternoons. It is also big enough to keep you dry when it's raining, most of the time - even when it's pouring like the monsoon outside of my window as I write this. As long as the wind isn't strong enough to push the raindrops sideways, you'll stay dry. 

Some of my favorite memories from my childhood are sitting on this porch on summer afternoons, laying on the couch made of white wires and flowered upholstery that moves back and forth like a swing. The house is in a neighborhood, on a side street in a small town near a big city. It was quiet, and I would read a book in the leafy shade of the potted plants while listening to the whirring cicadas. 

And then sometimes, in the afternoon, we - my grandparents, aunt, brothers, and I - would take our bowls of ice cream out onto the porch after lunch, and watch an August storm roll in. Lightning and thunder were just cool to watch, sitting outside under cover, over a bowl of ice cream slathered in chocolate syrup. 

I always liked the sound of rain. It reminded me of those cooling summer afternoons of my childhood. 

Now I can't stand the sound of rain. Since my year in Chicago, when I had a nervous breakdown that made me end up in the emergency room, terrified that I would kill myself with a kitchen knife if I stayed in my apartment. 

While in many ways I have recovered (I no longer have thoughts of hurting myself, which is a huge relief!), in some ways the extreme stress of that year has become a part of me. I'm more sensitive to noises and sounds. On bad days, I can't stand to have fluorescent lights on, or to sit in honking traffic (all too common in Kolkata and Dhaka where I've been for the last year!). On bad days, when I'm already feeling stressed for some reason, any extra sensory input can put me over the edge, make me curl up in bed trying to block out the world. 

If I'm out of the house when I reach this threshold, things can get really bad really quick. Usually I have my husband there to usher me as gently as possible into an air conditioned (and therefore soundproof) taxi, and to pet me on the head while I try to calm down. Right now, he's in England and I'm in Bangladesh, so I'm trying not to overexert myself. But if I'm alone and trying to get home when I'm in this state, it truly is terrifying for me to try to navigate my way home. I do it, obviously, but it takes me time to recover. 

So how does rain come into this? Rain, it turns out, is one of the most stressful things for me right now. It makes a constant noise that goes on for hours and hours, and that is inescapable, especially during the monsoon. This creates a background stress that, if triggered by something else, can leave me incapacitated for the whole day, unable to function normally or do anything except try to sleep. 

And don't get me started on thunder. If I'm asleep and thunder (or other loud noises like fireworks) wake me up, I have a tendency to get terrified. I know that there's no reason to be scared, but that doesn't help when my heart is beating fast and I have to bury my face in my husband's chest to calm down. And now that he's not here with me physically, it's even more difficult to relax when I get scared. 

It's so strange to me that I am reacting this way to rain. Until two years ago, I loved rain, I loved watching the lightning and hearing the thunder. I even used to sleep right through nighttime thunderstorms without waking even once. I was- dare I say it - a relaxing sound for me, then. 

But these are real, physical stress reactions to rain that I have to get used to and learn to deal with. I've developed a few coping mechanisms. One is listening to music or a radio drama, or even just putting earplugs into my ears. If you ever see me wearing earplugs for no reason, know that that is one of my coping mechanisms. Another is wrapping up in a blanket and covering myself with pillows, and running my hands over the small stuffed animal my husband bought for me in Sikkim. The weight and warmth of the bedding, and the fuzzy texture of the bear helps. 

And of course, if my husband is around, I just snuggle with him until I feel better. 

So that's my tragic love story about my troubles with rain. Do you have any suggestions for coping mechanisms that might help?