Stayed home. All day. Slept and hid in my room with the covers over my head. Alternated fever and chills. Then spent a lot of time having the shakes. It felt like I hadn't eaten in weeks. Or like I had just given blood a little too quickly.
And the more I stayed home and inside and not dealing with anything, the more I wanted things to stay that way. Long term. Pulling into a shell. Hermitting.
Told my family that I had a brilliant plan: if I have to sleep for 1/3 of my life, I wil stay awake for Spring, Summer and Fall and just sleep through the Winter.
Eldest boy pointed out that Winter is not 1/3 of the year. There were two good rebuttals to this:
1. I don't get enough sleep.
2. Here in Minnesota, Winter fer dang sure is 1/3 of the year.
I used to think that there was not a seasonal component to my Depression. Do you know why I thought that? Becuase my Depression symptoms were bad enough every winter to suppress my memories of them. And I wasn't writing so there was no record.
It has been much more difficult to keep up with the daily writing this winter. Many times where I am forced to catch up on nearly a week's worth of posts.
I think that in addition to the lack of sunlight and whatever that does for brain chemistry, the lack of connections to other people is quite detrimental. And the inclincaiton to hibernate removes me from sun and people both. Stupid vicious cycle.
I can't remember why some anecdotal or possibly scientific something said that there must be some sort of developmental advantage to Depression. It does not feel very advantageous right now.
Again, no worries. No imminent anything. No self-harm. No suicidal ideation. Just a desire to go into a cave and wrap my covers around me so it is only dark and soft and quiet. Which, in a family of five living in a
Quaker, teacher, parent,