SAD - for beginners!

 SAD - seasonal affective disorder.  It's not "winter blues" even if I may tell you it is.  I have been doing some reading around as it is something I have experienced, as regularly as the seasons, for about 10 years.

It starts, usually for me, as the light wanes, early September and kicks in as the clocks change bringing dark mornings, dark evenings.  It starts to lift in February - as the light changes.

I read that if you have 2 or more episodes, it is diagnosed.  That would be two years of miserable winters!

The treatment varies - for me, the ususal "have you tried a light box" works not at all.  I take a bit more anti-depressant in the winter - my brilliant doctor and I have worked on a pattern that is effective although the weight gain makes me snarl in total utter frustration.  It is a very miserable side effect.

The best things are simple: SAD makes me want to sit on the sofa, go to bed early and hibernate and not see people.  It is like one of Harry Potters Dementors - it draws the life and energy out of you, leaving you no energy to do the good things that work.

So each Autumn I make a plan.  This usually involves me booking an early swim, and forcing myself to walk for 10 minutes outside even if it is just about light, before work.  Planning meals - otherwise I eat chocolate! And I start to plan a spring holiday - in this case it will be in March, two walking days in Cornwall. St Ives - beautiful in Spring, horribly crowded in Summer.

I'm planning on leaving my trainers by the door, so that I practically fall over them because I work 40 hours and that's a fairly long day.  I need to get out.  I'm preaching to myself here.

Being honest to friends is another good strategy.  And now I'm off to swim!

Shades of Autumn

 "Bereavement" (Ann Lewin"Waiting for the Kingfisher"

Dark place

Where, vulnerable, alone,

We lick the wounds of loss.

Wise friends say little,

But hold us in their love,

And listen.

There are no guarantees,

Only reports from those

Who've been there. 

That there is hope,

And life persists."

The words above say it far better for me than words of my own.  

I lit an early morning candle for Judith in the Cathedral, a place about which, working professionally for the diocese, she had very mixed feelings.  It helped me anyway.  

It's the little things I miss - teasing her that everything has to match - toilet rolls, towels, soap, washing up liquid - who on earth matches their washing up liquid to the colour of their kitchen?  Judith did.

Hearing her voice in my head, quietly and sanely responding.  Walking on Dartmoor - crossing a river on a sluice gate because "the map says there is a path" and me saying "but it isn't on the ground" The retort was a cross "well it should be" I couldn't argue but we ended up wringing out socks and tipping out boots after ploughing through sodden marshy ground the other (safely path strewn) side of the river.

Listening to the endless search for an impossible item of clothing - straight trousers in a year of flappy wide ones, white sandals (!) in a year of navy blue. And wondering who else cleans window frames on an evening when you could be sitting in the garden with a book?

I think it will be standing room only at her funeral.