It can scarcely escape the notice of anyone living in the UK that our weather has been somewhat changeable in the past week. Last Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday were more like June, with temperatures reaching 27 degrees. Friday was cooler and on Saturday a bitter wind took the temperature right down. There was, my daughter informed me - somewhat wistfully - skiing in the Cairngorms.

Of course, I chose Friday to put away all my winter clothing and to bring out the short-sleeved tee-shirts and light summer skirts. Queuing for a concert on Saturday night, I felt distinctly chilly. This morning, I unearthed the jeans and woolly jumpers from the loft again.

Life so often feels like this. There are times when everything seems to be going well and then, suddenly, something happens, your world tuns topsy turvy and you’re in the mire. I remember when the man who was living with us and who I thought of as an adopted son, was arrested on child sex abuse charges. Everything turned around in that one phone call. I was devastated and disbelieving. In fact, I continued to believe in his innocence until all the evidence came out and he was found guilty in court. That time between his arrest and conviction was a time of unreality and desperate misery.

But somehow you adjust to a new reality. After a death, after a shocking blow, you go on, because you must. Life will never be the same again, but good times will come around again – because they always do if you just hang on.

Bouts of depression can be like that. I know that when I go into the depressive part of my bipolar cycle – something which thankfully hasn’t happened for two years now, since adopting this new medication – it’s immediate. The last time, I had just helped myself to a plate of food at my work conference and was stepping into the eating area, when it hit me. Suddenly, my head went up to the ceiling, my legs and arms stretched six feet long, my knees went wobbly and everything started to shimmer. The world retreated far away, and I could feel myself withdrawing to that grey misty place I’m trapped in when depressed. 

Fortunately, having gone through it many times before, I knew that if I held on for six weeks, reality would snap back, just as quickly, and the me I recognise would return. It just didn’t feel like it. It always feels as if it’s going to go on forever.

Life is a dance. Two steps in and two steps back. Turn around, grasp your partner by the hand, and then split up to dance around the rest of the line before coming around again, possibly with the same partner, possibly with another. Or sometimes you just whirl around by yourself, falling down, only to get back up and start the dance all over again.

Where are you in your dance? Would you change the music if you could? And are you dancing in your winter woollies again?

Mary

A Moodscope member