I am prone to a bout of depression at this time of year. I don’t know if it’s related to the time change, or if the slant of autumn light is just too elegiac. I love this time of year but I don’t like where I can end up.
Luckily it’s transient, lasting for a few weeks or so because I can feel pretty low, and that can lead me to a very dark place. One year I clung to hope and light by reciting things I was grateful for every night. Some days the list was quite brief: health, my children, my sweetheart, good food, a warm bed. Enough to be grateful for. Enough, just enough, to keep me upright.
I have a tendency as a result, to surround myself with activity. I think this is a trait I’ve inherited or copied from my mother whose approach to sadness and misery is to clean house or get down on her knees to scrub floors. I don’t quite do this but I do find things to do and fuss over. It may be sewing projects, or singing, or cooking. I up my vitamin D intake. I have never had to resort to anything stronger than that and a dose of more exercise but there may come a day when the autumnal sun will call for more profound action in order to keep my balance.
Writing keeps me going
Still to my muse here, offerings to invoke
that I may extol her rather than hurl curse
so she may visit me and rest her curved
hand on paper thus to unveil
Something shining beneath the common crust
Something on which we willingly concur.
Playing with style, which is a form of beauty
What are your tricks for keeping the blues at bay?