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That time of the year I dread--and I am pretty certain I am not alone--has arrived.
It is the sixth of January. The Epiphany. The day the Three Wise Men arrived at the manger, to bear their gifts.
That is the good part. The bad is that, tomorrow, it all goes away--the trees, the decorations, the mangers--and we go back to the norm.
As if this bitter cold has not been bad enough, this is when, for many, including myself, Seasonal Affect Disorder sets in. It is a psychological experience that elongates Winter beyond the length it actually is, and, with darkness still descending early, anxiety and depression are on the rise for its sufferers.
I feel luckier than most. I have my beloved David, and it is time to think of a new outfit for Baby Gojira, now that the Holidays are over. He is very excited about that, so that is helping to propel me forward, too.
I have said before, had I not been a preemie, I would have been born around mid-January. Which meant I would now have a birthday coming up. Wonder if that would have made a difference?
But for those of us who suffer, there is one sure thing--eventually, Winter will pass, and it will get lighter.
Time is on our side here, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
4 comments:
Thanks for ending on a hopeful note. Linda has a degree of SAD. She has always said she will die in March.
March is usually when I come out of it.
So don't let Linda con herself into belief
that could unconsciously force a self fulfilled
prophecy.
My best to you both!
I feel for you, my friend, tho I'm the polar opposite myself: the minute I perceive summer is well and truly imminent, I go into a tailspin of depression that doesn't lift til mid-July. Possibly because I'm stuck in a neighborhood where the denizens go batshit crazy the second the temperature rises above 50, triggering 24/7 megawatt party time (so forget a moments peace to think, read, or watch anything on TV until October).
Re the Three Wise Men: strangely, this was the first year it ever occurred to me how contradictory that whole myth is. Jesus was important enough for three powerful Kings to drop everything and track him down at birth, to bring him expensive gifts and genuflect. Yet they vanish the next day, never to be heard from again, and the little baby continues on to a life of obscure poverty, barely patched over in the Bible with a cartoon balloon reading "33 years later..." before the story continues. I wish I'd thought of questioning this while I was still in parochial school, and had access to a groovy nun with a knack for explaining these things intelligently.
During your time in parochial
school, your nun would have been
from the School Of Gladys Cooper.
You would have been tossed out,
for heathenism.
The Spring is when I perk up.
You always seem cheerful during
the warm months, so I never would have
thought. But I know SAD can happen to
anyone at aytime. It was always the post-
Christmas slump for me, even as a child.
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