There is something about winter that makes your mood just drop. I have not been able to place a finger on it, but this is the third winter in a row where I have been barely functional because of mental troubles. It isn’t just the cold or the snow, though waking up to -20 temperatures and snow covering every surface probably does not help. It isn’t just being trapped inside for your entire existence. It is something more. A metaphorical chill which aches no matter how well you hide from the snow and the wind.
Or maybe what I feel this winter is only nostalgia over a recently ended chapter of my life. The ‘coming of age’ chapter that I assume we all feel was too short. I am living in an adult world, doing adult things, but always just out of reach is the childhood I will never have again. Or, at least, never for long enough before I have to grow back up and go to work for another week.
Winter feels like an ending. It feels like nothing could ever be good any more. And then when spring comes, it is so gradual that you don’t notice things getting better. Suddenly everything is okay, but the next winter is just around the corner. It’s only a matter of time before that chill comes back and the hottest fire, the warmest blankets, the best shelter man can build, can’t keep it from deadening you to the core.