My winter blues—or undiagnosed SAD, or call it what you will—broke on Friday, like a fever. I’d spent two weeks feeling like I was being stretched thinner and thinner, always running to stand still both at work and at home: or so it seemed to me. But then over the course of a day the thin, acid layer of stress that covered me began to dry, clot, harden and then finally fall off in shards. When the working day was over, then like a tired old dog I shook off the last bits and went to spend a lovely weekend at home.
I’ve found that I tend to suffer most in between an equinox and the following solstice: those events, on the other hand, prompt me to consolidation or weightless activity respectively, which seems too astrological to be true. But in the latter half of 2008 events conspired to pull and push me through any ill feelings I might otherwise have had in between. So I suppose there might well have been some sort of buildup of whatever the hell it is, that then prompted the particularly rough last couple weeks, presaged by a bout of migraines and climaxing with somewhat more bog-standard headaches early last week.
Now I know that this is seasonal, though, then I can at least hunker down and sit it out. And if it’s not merely stressful circumstances that are affecting me, if there’s a strong internal component: then I can rank it with flu, or a broken bone, and can look forward to feeling better. Here comes spring; spring, here I come.