I have stopped and started writing 100 + times. I have the mental capacity of a jelly fish… and lets not forget the distraction of 3 cabin fever riddled children and a horny, drunken man-baby… O.K. so he hasn’t been drunk the WHOLE time, but close.
I loathe this time of year. The cold, the dark, the dreary. My anxiety is at its worst, there is little to nothing to distract from it and even before most of my more severe physical diagnoses, it’s not been a time of year when my body likes to cooperate. I’m usually pretty much fucked from the beginning of November to the end of March at least (with a lot of faking it throughout the month of December).
Being lucky enough to to be born Canadian sure has it’s benefits, I’m not denying that… but living this far north really sucks. Not that I wish to be a little bit south… though Mexico might be nice. As of now I guess we skip the in between right (still in a little bit of shock!)?
I’ve really just come to the conclusion that the only reason I’m holding my shit together is for everyone else. After everything my grandparents are going through, my dad can’t handle more drama from me. Mr. Mango definitely couldn’t do home life on his own and the kids need their Mommy… So I’m here, doing my thing every day.
Everything else around here is either dead, dormant or hibernating. I wish I could join them and give up or give in. Morbid and depressing as that may be, it’s ‘happy happy joy joy’ time at home, acting like we’re just in normal amounts of pain and anxiously awaiting another fun filled evening of nothingness.
I do have a plan though…. I’m going to bake a fucking cake. It’s for ME and I’m going to eat it and I’m going to pretend like that’s going to make me feel all better and deter the winter blues.
I’ll probably get 4 bites in, feel nauseous and have to give up on eating…. but it’s still my plan and I’m sticking to it.