The Winter In The Northwest Is A Greedy, Son Of A Bitch.

The winter in the Northwest is a dark, greedy son of a bitch.

It grips you, gently at first, and by the time you feel it’s icy touch, it’s far too late.

You need to find your way out but, each day you hesitate, it tightens it’s grip. You only get away at the very last possible moments and, sometimes even then, you don’t truly get away mentally.

Even though you need to escape, it’s oddly comfortable. Always familiar.

Like warm bath water, set to just the perfect temperature for you to stay in for far too long. Losing energy every single day without sunshine. Wasting all of your time, as if it were eternal.

But deep down, you always know it’s not, so you’re miserable as you sit in the indulgence.

It seems like everyone is doing better than you are. A quiet chaos of discomfort and discontent. Just under the surface, the tremor that comes from the core.

Each year, I tell myself ‘Never again’ but I get lost in the newfound freedom of each new summer. And I often fail to notice when that familiar hold starts tightening it’s grip again.

Either fail to notice it or I just know the depression far too well.

The first month of the deep winter is sheer bliss. Hard-earned, deep rest and a completely empty calendar.

Extravagance.

A pure and natural drug.

But, like any drug, it becomes a big problem when you do it every single day… And with the deep winter, you hardly notice until you’re far too addicted.

But everyone’s a junkie these days, aren’t they?

Like a world gone asleep, painfully missing the beautiful world going on around them.

I block and conserve the little energy I have left each day - Shutting myself off from the world around me.