Tag Archives: winter

Winter’s Black Hole

I’ve been debating with myself about what to say on here.  I’ve been asking myself how to address the election, how to address steps that I am taking with my writing, how to say something meaningful.  Instead, I feel my days slipping past in a sort of wallowing selfishness.  I tell myself that I will write this blog post and instead I spiral down the YouTube rabbit hole.  Sometimes, I distract myself with reading, yoga, a hot bath.

Other times, I stare out the window at the snow, my bleak antagonist.  I hate winter.  The gray days feel profoundly miserable.  This morning, the snow was gone and the sun was out (albeit weakly).  I felt better, told myself that I would get ready and go out.  Do something with my day off.  By mid-afternoon it was snowing again and sunless.  I looked outside and wondered what would happen if I just sealed my door and didn’t make a move until the sun came back and the snow once again melted.  I frantically checked the weather report.  How long until I can feel a sense of hope?  But I knew that I was catsitting and had to leave and I know that tomorrow I will need to go to work.  Giving up is not really an option.  The snow feels claustrophobic and I miss days on the beach, nights lying in the grass.

Does this seem melodramatic?  It does to me.  It also feels true.  Abstractly, I know that seasonal depression is real.  I also know that seasons pass and given the sunshine and lack of snow this morning, such a day may not be far off.  I also know that eventually, spring comes back and, like Lazarus, I am up again.

When I try to suggest that it feels hard, forbidding, I am often told sarcastically, “You live in Michigan. Get used to it or move.”  Of course, this answer does not account for the poverty that I experience.  I could leave, but I would be homeless.  Moving would require savings, a job in the new place, an ability to acquire housing because I had such a job.  (And before you say it, I HAVE my education.  I have a master’s degree.  In fact, I have almost two of them.  So.  Don’t peddle me your easy answers.)  It also doesn’t take into consideration that I would need the emotional capacity to blow off every person that I know and go it alone.  In short, it feels like a suicide mission.

Instead, I am still here.  I am writing to you to say that it is hard and bleak.  Some days, I fake it so well.  You might never guess.  I see you and I smile.  “I’m great.  How are you?”  It’s nothing short of a miracle to hide so much darkness.  I wait it out.  I blot it out.  There were better days behind me, there are better days before me.

I wanted to tell you something meaningful.  I meant to say something uplifting.  Instead, I passively wait and ask you to wait too.  It’s the only way I know.  Inside of it all, there are tiny moments when it all feels okay.  I note them, an oddity.