2015-03-02 09.38.45

It’s the second of March, and winter has returned. Beyond the safe green of my house plants there is a blizzard; fast, white and dangerous. Even as I type, the flakes are becoming thicker and the garden toys are disappearing under an icy veil.

I tell myself I’m done with winter.

I’m done with the cold.

I’m done with not being able to get to work.

I’m done with Nathan missing school.

I’m done with damp laundry hanging miserably on radiators and hard-done-by cats glowering at their snow imposed prison.

Yet I stop, and stare, and am hypnotised by the swirling spirals of soft, chilly wonder. I know it makes life harder, yet somehow I feel joy at its presence.

I lowered the dose of my anti-anxiety medication a couple of weeks ago. At first I felt much better, like the tease of spring sunshine in February. But just like the March snow, darkness and uncertainty flurried into my mind, fogging my feelings and leaving me a fractious egg, ready to drop and crack.

I burrowed out of hibernation too soon, and was met with ice and emptiness instead of warmth and growth.

I look at the blizzard now and wonder if I will ever gather all those flakes; ever see the swirling stop and a gentle order resume. I seek balance, where the ice and fire sometimes battle but in doing so make steam, not muddy puddles. Give me hot steam, to drive this engine and make tracks with the tasks I long to do.

The sun is coming out now, and I have gone back to my recommended dose of meds, not feeling a failure for not being able to cope without them, simply using them as one with a broken leg uses a crutch. I must remember they are a tool, not a stigma. They are the gentle slowing of the blizzard of the mind. They are a little sun when all is cold.

And it’s only for now. Only in winter. Because there is a season to all things, and even in the deepest, bitterest chill, spring will come.

Advertisements