Spring. Yay. I'm so sad I could just...

what????


Aren't we supposed to all feel happier in the spring? You know, with the longer days, and the melting of the snow, and the pushing out of the hard cold ground of the tough little spring flowers?

The minute the sun comes out and the temperature goes up, everybody's in their shorts and yankin the ol' Firebird outta the garage. And me?

I think it's time I just come out with it. Let's stop playing these little denial games. I don't hate spring, okay? And I do love a warm spring day, not that I remember them from last year or anything. It's just that.... I feel more depressed in the springtime.

Holy crap, I just typed it out loud. I did it. And I'm not going to erase it. NO, I'm not.

It's taken me years to figure this out, and call it, but I've had these vague feelings of sadness right around now for years. Last year I was keeping myself occupied the way I do every March:

-pigging out on Awards Show Season
-wallowing in the mud at the farm during March Break
-crying

...although I might add that last year at this time I was still heavily involved in several different kinds of therapy, which was extremely helpful but also exhausting, and sometimes defeated its own purpose. As an example, I'd like to direct you to one of my favourite posts of all time, in which I described my fight or flight instinct kicking in at the hospital parking lot after a visit to my pshrink. I'm leaving all the typos and grammar mistakes intact. That's the way it was then.

Hey, did I mention that my pshrink won't return my calls?





I really don't want to see him again anyways.



What was I talking about?


Oh yeah. Happy frickin spring.




So, last year. Then the year before, well, that was pretty awful. I'd just been diagnosed with all of this crap and my house was a construction zone. I was never alone. My chest hurt so bad I thought I should go to the hospital but I wouldn't go because the thought of going made it worse. I was having a hard time figuring out what meds would work for me, and well, basically, I was not functioning very well. Worst of all...I was still hiding it and covering it up and trying to pretend to the world that there was nothing wrong.

The years before that all I really remember is feeling unenthusiastic about gardening and wondering through the fog if that was bad, because I used to really love gardening. And then not caring enough to worry about it, but sort of feeling slightly foggily worried that I wasn't worried.

I haven't yet figured out exactly why the depression rears its ugly head this time of year.

But in the meantime, I gotta go get myself all fixed up because dammit, I'm gonna get on a plane in a week and I'm gonna spend an extended weekend PARTYING WITH ROCK STARS regardless of my mental emotional state. I am going to enjoy a meal paid for by the Canadian Academy of Recording Arts And Sciences, and I am going to wear make up, and like, a dress, and boots that were not made for riding or walking or cleaning out stalls, and I'm going to spend about four days half heartedly attempting to not make an ass of myself in front of famous people. So kiss my ass, springtime blues.