January. Thank Fuck It’s Over.
Right. That’s it. It’s official. The sun no longer exists, or it doesn’t in January anyway.
What a month. Jesus. Sorry for the lack of posts but, unlike me though it is, I couldn’t be arsed. Not sure why but this year the whole stinking month really got to me. Asking around, it got to most of us. I’ve written before about the emotional issues associated with a lack of Vitamin D. Remember a couple of summers ago when there was no sun whatsoever?
I seriously reckon for the first time ever, I’ve actually been depressed. Not just mildly irritated or slightly below par, but properly fucking down there. Didn’t leave the ledge for three days. Just sat there staring at the pavement.
At one point it got so bad Mart suggested a trip to the windows of Selfridges might do me some good. Stare at some sparkle for a while. Didn’t help at all. Just got trodden on by a load of lard arse tourists.
He also said exercise works, so we set off for Canary Wharf which was all good till it pissed it down and we had to do a stop off on the Isle of Dogs. Thankfully the dogs were nowhere to be seen, but I was practically suicidal by the time we got home.
Whatever I did, nothing seemed to help. Not even chocolate.
Mart took this of me last Wednesday.
Not a good day:
I seem to remember even the wet between my toes made me feel irrational.
Apparently, January is Soup Month in the US. That kinda says it all. Nothing worth celebrating apart from soup. FFS.
Anyway, it’s February now so I’m feeling slightly better, and it’s a short month so March really isn’t that far away. What also helped was talking to someone who’d had it a whole lot worse…
His name’s Fred and I met him in Soho Square the other day.
This is Fred:
Fred’s other half left him for a pigeon in Hackney on Christmas Eve. Just upped and left, so I asked him how he’d coped.
“I didn’t at the time.” He said. “There I was one minute planning for the festive season, the next she was telling me I was dull, she was bored and had met someone else. At first I ignored her and carried on filling the nest with berries and humming Christmas Carols like Ding Dong Merrily On High. Two days later, I noticed she was gone. That was when it hit me. When I knew. She even left the arse feather I gave her when we met. Broke my heart. Then it went from bad to worse. I spent Christmas on my own and by Boxing Day I decided I’d had enough. Couldn’t bear life in the nest without her. All those memories. So I decided to end it. Fly to the nearest spikes I could find, and throw myself off.”
This is Fred re-creating the moment he threw himself onto the spikes near Leicester Square:
I asked him what happened next.
“It was a miracle. A miracle I tell you. Someone opened the door and a gust of wind blew me over the top of them. Missed them by an inch. Despite landing hard on the pavement, it made me realise life wasn’t so bad afterall. That I had something to live for.”
Then I asked him how long they’d been together. He said it was one of the best weeks of his life. It was at that point I suggested some therapy might also be a good idea.
Finally, the sun’s shining today so I’m off to get me some rays. See if I can’t get the happy juices flowing again. Anyone out there had the same January as me, I suggest you do the same coz this could be it till April.
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