Seasonal Affective Disorder for weirdos

So, Seasonal Affective disorder is a thing. And I have a version of that. But I’m weird, so mine kicks in during spring, the days are longer, and most people love that. Me, I just want a bit more night. A bit more clouds. I want it cooler and such. And really my path falls into that too. One can hardly worship night and Winter and not be affected by its opposite. So, I’m a bit more prone to depression or overreacting. If I’m going to overthink into the ground, it’s a bit more likely during that time.

I really only notice it in counterpoint to after the summer solstice. When I can feel energy flowing in, instead of out.

I feel powerful and more myself, more focused in this half of the year.
It’s just how it is.

The price of memory

There is a thing in movies and TV shows and in books where despite everything that the protagonist does, every action taken. Despite it all, the person they love is killed or dies. And it destroys me each time. It rips my chest open and for a minute it’s like the door is opening again and I see her, laying there, dying all over again. Every time.

No matter how much time passes, there are things that will trigger me back.

I’m torn between wishing I don’t experience that again and never wanting to get to the point where I feel nothing.

Because if I feel nothing, I will have lost that last piece of her.

But I also don’t want the person I love now to get the impression that I somehow love them them less. I love madly, deeply, completely. And I love you.

Fresh squeezed heart, Now with more pulp

Its never enough. People either love you or they don’t and no matter how much you love them, how much you need to be the person to hold them, how much you want to protect them or keep them safe, it is never enough to change their minds. You could be amazing, intelligent, honorable and trustworthy. You could be learned and skilled in areas both carnal and not. And it still doesn’t matter. At the end of the night, they wave goodbye and walk into the arms of another. Or stand at such distance that, like an Escher painting, you never get closer.

Vacation time

This sad fool in motley granted fleeting asylum in the land of ease,
a creature of despair made mad by joy
Sits calmly in balance until revocation
Then despair works it’s way from bones and bleeds on the night air
Raw from soft living
Pain of the past hits like a wrecking ball
Demolishing the city rebuilt
from
Dreams remembering they are nightmares

I’m a mess

That momentary thought that cutting my hand and feeling that sharp cold steel, the pain blossoming crimson.  That would be better than not holding you.

  I was doing so good yesterday, then my brain betrayed me and I dreamed of you.  The feel of your skin, the taste of you, your short sharp gasps.  All laid out and preserved in my brain, false memories of something never occurred.

So today, when faced with you in the world, I must confront again your lack of interest.  Something I thought I had a handle on. But not so much it turns out.  I would be telling friends this, but I don’t want advice.  I just want someone to hold.