Shifting moods under cloud cover; this time of year always hits me like a ton of bricks and I always realize it too late, when I’m already lying dazed on the floor, wondering what’s happened and how I ended up winded on my back. I forget to anticipate and protect myself – enact rituals that will keep me safe and sane.
I only understood I slipped back into the unwelcome pattern during my one-to-one today with Chris, when he asked me how I am and I had a chance to pause and seriously think about the dip in my mood.
“I’ve been tired, for some reason, but I don’t know why.”
It’s the sudden drop in temperature – the indomitable palette of grey imposing itself on the city, the dark mornings, the hiding sun, the moon rising too early casting evening shadows on quiet streets. I tell Chris that this slump will hopefully only last another couple of weeks, before I settle into the coziness of the season. I want to light a candle and write at my desk. I want to read fanciful stories that take me to brighter, softer worlds. I want to listen to music and sketch little nothings into a tattered book. These are the small ways I take care of myself.
But a darker force pulls me back into bad habits. Dark movements on dark days. Fall is my favourite season, but for me it’s also the hardest. I like the idea of it – the concept of cardigans, changing colours, falling leaves. I forget there’s always, year after year, this inevitable hurdle I must jump over to reach the other side.
I always forget the heavy struggle of early October.