Good Morrow to you, oh wonderful handful of people who actually read here! I realise that a post from us is probably a huge shock, so sit yourselves down and take a few deep breaths. The weirdness of it will soon pass. I think.
Between the beginnings of the winter depression, the infection of the kidneys, the struggle to find housing, and the psychotic friend, it’s been a bit of a rollercoaster ride, with far too many big drops. There has been much curling up in bed, plenty of sleep disruption, and a probably-not-healthy amount of mindless games playing. The dissociation gets much worse during the winter months, and we have no idea why. It probably means we’re a hedgehog, and have a primal need to hibernate. Or something. Meh.
So. Winter feels unsafe. And yes, this is really strange, because emotionally, we love winter. Wild weather, storms, snow, it’s all good. But physically, we feel unsafe. Edgy. Miserable. The anxiety skyrockets, the panic attacks multiply, and we have an overwhelming urge to be in hospital. Medical hospital, not psych. Like we’re expecting something bad to happen to us physically. Considering the long list of serious medical conditions we live with, this isn’t a totally irrational fear. But why always in the winter? Most of our medical hospitalisations have been in the summer, as we have lousy heat tolerance and heat makes us very ill. Yet something about the nights drawing in, the darker days, it makes everything seem dangerous, scary, unsafe. So we dissociate, not consciously, but obviously in an effort to escape whatever it is.
There are so many horrible things in our past, yet I remember them all. But this, I don’t know. And that scares me.