Walking through the city centre we encountered a friend who did not come to Thanksgiving because he was felled by seasonal depression. He reported that he feels much better now; his run of bad luck is in the early winter, when it is darker around here.
Byron pointed to me and merrily said She is just starting – sometimes it gets so bad she is suicidal!
It is true: I am grief-stricken this time of the year. I’ve done everything possible to fix the problem, and I am substantially less moody than past years, but winter is not my season.
There is a physical element, as cold weather is literally intolerable. My body shuts down at a certain temperature and I can’t recover unless I take very hot baths, which isn’t possible on the boat. I can’t fly away to a hot climate because of course sunlight is forbidden (summer is also a treacherous season, but at least I can go out at night).
However: I don’t really mind the crushing sadness, as I often figure out something important when forced to slow down. Reflecting on my life is not a daily indulgence in the spring or fall.
In the past this has taken the form of digging around in my experiences growing up with cancer. For some reason this winter is all about relationships, and the various ways that I have failed to understand commonplace reality.
Another change this year is that various friends have written to check on me, and a few have even called – and I have been talking about my feelings. This is a new phenomenon as I have never been surrounded by people who tried to take care of me, or if anyone tried I flatly rejected the overture.
Instead I always chose confidants who expected and reinforced my toughness. One example: Byron, while rock solid in all matters medical and practical, simply does not care to listen. He takes the position that I should get over it.
Today I prompted him to ask how I am feeling and he replied No. You are an adult. Deal.
Of course this made me laugh.
Other than sleeping too much the main side-effect of my depression is a tendency to wallow in popular culture, which is anathema to my normal routine. Yesterday while wandering around I bought a Neil Diamond cd – and that is the least embarrassing music on constant repeat on the laptop.
I’ve also gone out to the movies or rented videos every night, which is definitely outside the normal routine. When I bought a ticket to see Casino Royale it was clear I had officially exhausted the available cinema options in this small town.
There are probably many critiques to be offered about the movie but I’ve never seen another Bond film. The only substantial thing I took away from the viewing was a hunch that the killers I’ve loved are more charismatic and attractive than the current 007.
I reviewed mental files and a few photographs and decided that my hunch was accurate. I thought too bad they chose a different career path.
Then I noticed that I had evaluated someone based on physical appearance. That has never happened before. How peculiar.