(No, I’m not talking about our soon-to-be-former Prime Minister — I’ll try to keep politics out of this post!)
It doesn’t happen quite every year, but it’s not unusual for me to develop a certain depression in late May — it happened in 2016, before that in 2015 and 2013 (the latter having the same date structure as this year), and judging from my diary, it happened even as far back as 1992 and 1995 (in both cases, just before half-term)!
What is it about this exact time of year that causes the same problems? Especially considering how lucky I was in mid-to-late May last year*, getting something nasty out of my head (the symptoms of which first clearly manifested in late May 2015), and living to tell the tale (and with the same number of marbles as before, or possibly slightly more). I felt no depression back then at all, and only my inability to sleep through the night in June made my summer less than pleasant!
(* Damn, I should have proof-read that post-op blog post, or hired someone to do it for me!)
In May 2013 it was partly post-holiday blues: I still remember walking into the courtyard at the hotel where my group had first assembled, and feeling a pang of sadness that our adventure was over — and, of course, coming back to work in the same office as the overly-loud “annoying woman”, and feeling like my supervisor was threatening my job if I didn’t cheer up, made things worse. However, it was mainly down to my innate inability to find a girlfriend, and even as I worried about my future career or how to pay the bills in May 2015, that issue came to the fore once again, as a girl I’d met at yoga mysteriously failed to appear when I’d hoped she would (and that was a prelude to a girl at work seeming to like me and then suddenly ghosting me).
So it’s been this May: almost right on cue, on Wednesday the 22nd, I felt a return to my days of serious depression; though fortunately it only lasted a day (or possibly a morning), it reminded me of the bad times in my life, which I’ve been chronicling in this blog in the naively optimistic hope that someone will read and be inspired to carry on with life. Fortunately “boss lady” was off that day, or she might have called me out on being somewhat cold and withdrawn (except when I managed to pretend to be cheerful), or hiding in the toilet and almost crying to myself (at one point listening to the poignant Gorillaz song “Empire Ants” again), as I brooded on… things.
What things? Well, naturally the old “girl troubles” surface again: it occurred to me that I hardly ever hear from “Polish female best friend” these days, and although it could be largely due to her heavy workload, I can’t help but consider the fact that she’s not “into” me, if she ever was, and perhaps even going off me as a friend. I know I’ve been searching for someone since 1995 (and going on about it here since 2012), and that apart from that one special girl in America and a couple of 2016 possibilites here (both in late September), I’ve never been in anything even remotely resembling a relationship; however, thinking (however naively) that she might just be “the one” helped me relax for the first few months this year, not obsessively saying yea or nay to the 21 women I’m offered as matches in a certain mobile app.
(Actually, the main reason I stopped using that app for a while was having coughed and snotted almost constantly since Christmas Eve, though that sounds more like an excuse!)
I’m back using that app now, and already making contact with the fairer sex (and yes, I’m using Quagmire soundbites for the app’s notifications), but if there’s one thing that’s tired me out over the past six or seven years, it’s the dating scene, and an endless sequence of first dates. Forget what I said before: I don’t want to sleep around (or build a harem), I want a long-term monogamous relationship with one special woman, even if we’re not “perfect” for each other — because my life is otherwise good at the moment, and I once promised in these pages that I’d stop writing this blog once things are perfect.
Okay, my life’s not that good at times: I’m still having trouble adjusting to a new housemate, “best mate’s” other best mate, moving in to replace the bloke who replaced “drummer-trucker” (who I also mentioned in an emotional May post in 2017). At least I’m able to have conversations with him now, and when the Aussie moves out and he takes over the big room downstairs, he’ll hopefully stop creaking the floorboards right next to our dividing wall when he gets up in the mornings. There’s also the fact that everyone seems to be SLAMming the front door these days, in some cases even when coming into the house…
Perhaps it really is just the time of year (the onset of summer and increasing temperature) that sets the scene for my depression, and specific events, even trivial little things, which trigger it — thus last year’s surgery and recovery took my full attention, and thus prevented me from becoming depressed. It gave me an excuse to duck out of the dating scene for a bit, and of course to stay home, let my folks take care of me (for a while), go for walks and pet dogs, and play video games during what would have been working hours.
(But oh, how frustrating completing the original StarCraft was — the sequel was a lot better!)
Of course, there’s also the possibility that the “space invader” itself caused my depression and anxiety over the past few years, increasing during the summer as it heats up (and women wear summer clothes)… but that’s just scaremongering, because aside from occasional issues likely resulting from medication side effects (and the scar feeling sensitive in both sunlight and cold air), I’ve got my head together.
Might as well say it’s something to do with the anniversary of my computer du jour dying on 24th May 2011, an incident which left me feeling ill… as though I’d developed a stomach ulcer? Or is it just because I always seem to get a cold at this time of year, and end up with mood swings from cough remedies…?
All I’ll say is, I got over it in record time this year, and won’t be depressed on the second May Bank Holiday, unless something really goes wrong — so let me get some sleep, please!
Dave-ros Lives! 