Seasonal Not-Really Depression

I put on a halfway decent show of being a good New Englander, born and bred. I love crisp air, fresh snow, ice skating, walking when I can see my breath, sliding, cross country skiing, hoarfrost on the trees, hemlocks covered in snow, and the city lights through a veil of snow. I hate winter.

I can deal with snow, ice, slush, sleet, and frozen variations of the above. I don’t really mind the knee high boots, long underwear, hats, mittens, sweaters, and coats, but I do hate winter. I hate the darkness. I hate feeling as if there will never be light again. In the perpetual dark, I hide from the season under thick blankets and bright lights.

It is as if I’ve slipped under the ice on a cloudy afternoon in late December. I am numb. There is the brief shock as I submerge, and then nothing. There is no pain, no feeling, to indicate I’ve slipped under the ice. I know I should be alarmed. I should be petrified. I am calm, nothing hurts, and nothing is cause for alarm. I know I will need to breathe, but it’s okay that my head is under water. The light is a dim outline through the five plus inches of ice. I know I should be concerned that I can’t breathe, can’t feel my fingers, arms, face, legs, but I’m calm.

I can feel myself slipping under in mid-November, but am ambivalent. I vaguely notice I’m sinking, but it doesn’t matter. December and January are a blur. I live on auto-pilot with rare gasps of life. I’m not unhappy; I’m just not there. I force myself to keep going, to get up, dressed, to work, do what is needed, smile and laugh a little too carefully, work extra hours, and bury my head in a book, any book, in the hours when I don’t need to be present. I’ll read too much, but won’t remember stories, only random facts. When pushed, when I have emotional cause, or when I feel safe, I temporarily  thaw and emerge.

In late January, I surface. I reach numbed fingers into the light and start reaching out to people again. I once again start to gasp for life. I start doing things for fun, not just survival.  The numbness slowly yields to burning. There is pain as feeling returns in fire. As I deliberately breathe, I remember it’s okay to care. I decide again to claim joy.

In truth, it isn’t hate for winter, but fear. I fear I will remain stuck looking up at the world through inches of ice and dull water, numb and half alive. I fear I will not surface.