Every year – as the lights start to twinkle and music turns to bells and jingles, – my thoughts nearly always begin to head in a darker direction.
The rational side of my brain tells me that I have a lot to be thankful for; I have a job I enjoy, I have my health, a family I love and who loves me in return.
And yet, and yet.
My body and brain begins to be seized by a malaise that defies rational thought. It tells me I am – contrarily – alone, unloved and destined for failure and ruin.
On the face of it, I appear unperturbed. In the office I continue as always – laughing and joking, happy to be the butt of jokes and giving as good as I get.
To friends I bump into around town, on my commute or social media, I exchange pleasantries and give the ‘same old, same old’ sort of replies.
I know most people would probably happily listen if I gave the time, but that’s yet another consequence of the illness – an assumption that you’re not worth bothering with or talking to.
After all, who wants to listen to a torrent of ‘poor me, poor me’?
Given time, I know I’ll come out the other side. Not stronger. Not even necessarily weaker. Possibly a little dimmed.
And always resigned to the knowledge that the same thing will happen again.
Roll on spring with those daffodils and gambolling lambs ?