different things
I knew something was different when I couldn't connect with anything I was reading. When I couldn't sit still long enough to feel the timbre of words reverberate within me.
Books have always been a source of solace and safety. But lately, it's like I can't get to them and they can't reach me.
I knew something was different the first time I left my studio empty-handed. I knew it even further when it happened again.
It's not uncommon for me to step into my creative space without the motivation for making. It's not uncommon for the depression to follow me in. But, usually somewhere in the rhythmic shift of crumpling papers I find the quiet. I find some peace. I find at least a temporary reprieve, and I make 'something'.
The melancholy may still leave with me, but I also leave with a glued down victory. A small sigil. A symbol that I overcame
But, leaving with nothing? That was something different. That was something new.
I knew something was different, but I ignored it.
That part has always been the same. That's how I've always been. How I've always handled things.
"Plants and animals don’t fight the winter",
says, "they don’t pretend it’s not happening and attempt to carry on living the same lives that they lived" before. "They prepare", May says. "They adapt. They perform extraordinary acts of metamorphosis to get them through."I'm the mammal that never seems to learn.
Sure I notice when the light lessens. When it gets darker longer. When the air is brisker than it has been. When it's colder than other times of the year. I throw on another layer. Try to move faster. Work even harder. I ignore the fact that I'm shivering, and hope that the friction of my own frantic energy will keep me warm.
You dig your heels in. You put your head down. You grit your teeth and you push the fuck through.
Say what you will, but it works.
Until it doesn't.
Until you come close to losing something important to you. Or, someone you can't bear to lose.
I knew something was different when I realized that my tested methods that bested the cold don't work anymore.
I started going to to therapy, recently, because when you realize something is different, when you realize winter is coming, you have to do things differently. You have to do different things.
P.S. - ICAD - Day 157-159
Have you considered medication? My husband was diagnosed with bipolor disorder two years ago and I look back at the suffering that happened continually, like clockwork, every single winter and spring. The disease is a circadian rhythm disorder and can be managed by behavior and medication. Both of our lives have completely transformed for the better with his diagnosis. It can be a subtle disease without the wild manic highs. He mostly falls into depressions each winter and spring.
Wonderful wonderful. I too am seeking out therapy in this season. It’s a wonderful thing to care for ourselves.