Once upon a time… about twenty-one years ago, to be exact.
Wow, it is an adult now!
As I were.
In 1997, around this time of the year, my domestic life, relationship included, started to fall apart. I have no recollection of the cold winter but I cannot say for sure that that year experienced a mild winter without the freezing cold fronts we endure now. Perhaps, it was more like the fall season, with the leaves turning brown and falling onto the ground. The marriage didn’t end yet. My life’s winter would come the following year, while the southern hemisphere was experiencing winter.
As I said, I didn’t feel the cold of winter. I did not feel any need to hibernate. I concluded though, having suffered more pronounced episodes of depression in August 1997 and August 1998, that the month of August was no friend of mine. Coincidentally, my ex-husband birthday is in August.
In January 1999, my almost three-year old son and I moved to the big city. The town where we lived was too small for me, my ex-husband and his girlfriend. I did the best I could to move on: I worked, drank wine after work, partied, spent money I didn’t have, and dated, starting with an interesting Eastern European guy who moved like Nicholas Cage in City of Angels and spoke with the most romantic accent, to me, anyway. I partied all the way to my first winter in Johannesburg, having gained new friends in my new job in the Information Technology industry. Those around me would say I got over my failed marriage and moved on as though I merely punched in the wrong PIN at the ATM and was retrieving my cash after my second and successful attempt.
However, come August, the facade started to crumble and the mask was peeling off. I had written a journal which I shared here before.
Things have changed. There was a shift from August to winter. In 2016, albeit also in August, when I wrote this poem, Raging Gloom, I realised that winter could be the culprit. I didn’t think though that I could be suffering from SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) although I might display symptoms of depression*. South Africa has a good supply to sunlight throughout the year. The sun doesn’t desert us in winter.
*Of course, this can be attributed to the ‘fact that I was diagnosed with clinical depression in 1997/MDD (Major Depressive Disorder) last year, although my talk therapist suspected that I was misdiagnosed as I appeared to have Bipolar Disorder 2. Neither is good, I suppose.
Being an over-achiever, as a result of my feelings of inadequacy, I aim to change the future and get out of the cycle.
August 2018 will be different, notwithstanding that I have been pretty useless this whole winter, just like the last few winters. I have not really written. My novels are feeling abandoned. I have been lethargic and lazy, doing the minimum, mainly for work, simply because I recognize and respect responsibility despite the loss of interest for everything else.
I initially planned to release the South African edition of at least two books (already out and available on Amazon), which I shouldn’t have. Being the human that I am, I work better with the tried and tested, or the norm: spring signifies hope and everything new and bright. Therefore, I am awakening right now, and I should be in full writing-and-publishing swing from the first of August, as I leave winter behind.
I shall be clichéd. I shall give birth to some things new come spring…
…with the help of my associates. 😋😊