I guess it's that time of year. Yknow, dark, cold, gloomy etc. We blame the seasons and the weather for our moods. It is of course a real thing but it's also the time of year where people have such unrealistic expectations of themselves and others. People feel an immense pressure to have fun, to be fun and to be OK. The anxiety inducing lead up to Christmas and New year is stressful for many. I know I have mixed feelings about it. On one hand, I love the lead up to Christmas; I like the decorations, the food, the time off work. But god, it fills me with a certain dread.
Unfortunately, around this time of the year, I've had a few problems in the past and it's like they haunt me (yes, I guess I'm visited by the ghost of Christmas past) I feel anxious for things that haven't happened yet, for the fun I'm expected to have and for the feelings I am supposed to suppress so that everyone has a good time. In all honesty, I'd like to go to bed on Christmas eve and surface again on 2nd January. That would do me nicely.
I know that a lot of people feel like this, it's not uncommon. I also know that even if you think you've forgotten some old feelings, your brain holds on to them. It remembers. It likes to celebrate the anniversary of something you'd rather not. So no matter how much you want it to be OK, sometimes you are simply powerless to its ways. That's not to say that you can't make new and better memories. It's just hard to remember that.
Must not forget to remember that you can make new memories.
Not the catchiest of slogans.
The cold evenings make me want to stay home on the couch more than ever. It's becoming almost impossible to motivate myself to go to the gym and my diet is obviously compromised mostly of beige, frozen food. So I'm doing myself no favours and I know it. But I just cannot find the motivation to do anything about it. Every morning I drag myself out of bed at the last possible minute. All plans of eating breakfast and walking to work are out of the window as I just make it onto the bus. The thought of doing something after work seems like a mammoth effort.
I feel myself slipping. I hear from a dark recess of my brain a call to just slip into a darker place. A place I've been before and a place where I can just shut myself away. It's tempting. I've fought it hard. I've got myself up and to work. I've contributed and I've coped. But the voice calls to me every morning and every evening. Come back. It's warm and fuzzy here. I'm worried that I'm running out of excuses in response to it.
For now, however, I remain part of the functioning, real world. Surrounded by twinkling Christmas lights and hope. Hope that new memories can be made and that I can stay in the light. Hope that expectations are low and understanding is bountiful. Hope that the coming days really can be merry and bright.
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