As long as I can remember I have suffered from the winter blues. Someone once told me that babies born in winter are more likely to suffer, my birthday is 27th January. I’m also a sensitive person and a painter, and, as it turns out, a person with depressive tendencies.
Sometime around when the clocks change in late October I get that strangled, misery feeling. It peaks around dusk and fades away as the night draws on. Like I’m resigned to the darkness by then. Some years it was ok, some years it was terrible. Life was pointless if everyday was dark. October and November became hated months for me, December and January had some redeeming features and February brought redemption. I would go through a slightly manic phase in February when the light returned where anything was possible and everything was fantastic. The future was bright! Spring! Summer!
Then autumn again.
When I became depressed full time and not just part time the peak of my winter misery would be the end of December, October and November were relegated. They lost their bite when I began to appreciate the beauty of dying light and falling leaves. But no manic happy phase happened no matter how much I looked forward to it. I just felt a bit better come spring.
Then this year, nothing. I have had no winter blues, no dusk dread, no enforced late night walks by my boyfriend to show me that the dark is nothing to fear. I haven’t needed those walks. The sun goes down and I feel ok. It’s dark, so what? Night is inevitable. I want to examine why this is but as the saying goes: never look a gift horse in the mouth.
If this is recovery, I’ll take it.