January Blues - what do you mean it's half-way through February?

Spring is coming. Apparently.

January, for me, is a terrible month. It is full of anniversaries of the loss of beloved people from my life. It's cold, dark, and sunny days are few and far between. And I am usually battling the pounds, losing them from the wrong places - i.e. my bank account and not my body.

My poor husband's birthday is in the middle of January. I feel sorry for people like him. Nobody really likes January, do they? Everyone's poor after spending so much money over Christmas, everyone wants to lose weight, everyone's wants to do a Dry January (not in this house they don't!). The poor January birthday people get a raw deal.

Of course I did try to put on a brave face, and I think I managed it, mostly.

But then it was back to misery. Not only did we lose David Bowie and Alan Rickman but then the real kicker came - Terry Wogan. I'm not going to go on effusing about these amazing people who have been there throughout my life. Suffice to say, my grief levels have escalated.

Then there are beloved people around me, who are fighting with 'proper' illnesses. Cancer. All I have is a particularly bad bout of depression (and Type II Diabetes - which really is my own fault cos I am overweight; and high blood pressure - ditto; and plantar fasciitis - ditto... you get my drift). But my problems are not life-threatening. There's always someone worse off blah blah blah. I don't want to use the sadness of their situations to fuel my wallowing further. 

Depression is like quicksand. It sucks you in. You can fight to get out, but you get more stuck. 

Depression is like a heavy blanket. Unable to throw it off, you pull it tighter round yourself.

I know there are things I could do, should do, to help myself.

'Get out more. Have some fresh air'. Have you seen the fucking weather lately? Fuck off, I would rather stay indoors.

'Exercise', they say. 'It releases endorphins that make you feel better'. I'm sure it does, if only I could be arsed. But I am too tired. Too broke. My feet hurt. I'm too fat to run. I haven't got time (there will always be an excuse).

I am tired.

But....

We are over half way through February.  It is time to come out of hibernation. Time to kick my own butt (which is, you have to admit, quite hard to do without falling over).

But I'm going to do it. Instead of being bogged down with grief, worries about money (or lack of it), and fears about things I can do nothing about, I am going to get my arse in gear and join the land of the living. I have a book to write, after all. And I need to promote this blog.

Just bear with me. It's still cold out there.