What cruel God created a world in which you are tossed into the depths of depression by seemingly everlasting winter, dark days, cold, wind, rain, greyness, no holidays, no colour, no festivities – and then very suddenly throws SPRING at you like some kind of diabolical taunting game. In the UK, it feels like spring sunlight arrives with the speed of a supersonic jet. Honestly, last week it was dark at 4:30pm, and now it’s light until 5:30-6pm, and there are birds singing all the time.
All the non-depressed people are wandering around, happy happy happy, oblivious to anything but the bizarre weather, and the charming prospects of flowers and mating and fresh fruit. Hurray for spring! they cry, insensible to the cynical glowering of the seasonally affected. Fucking groundhog, we mutter. Curse you.
Why? After months of darkness, of cyclical, ruminating, existential angst, of slipping on ice and of arriving to work soaked with winter rain, you are filled with despair. Nothing can ever be well again. Nothing is worth the bother. You are exhausted. You are so, so done. But just at the point when you have accepted this, the sun arrives, mocking and cold. Vitamin D starts to seep into your pores, and long lost energy starts to bubble up in your belly.
Now tell me, if you were so depressed, what would you do with this sudden burst of energy, this sudden drive to commit the acts that you had never managed before?
If I had time, I would research for you all whether there is a spike in risky and dangerous behaviour in spring around the more polar areas of the world, and whether that spike disappears towards the equator.
Spring fuels my demons, and gives wings to the voices that inspire me to do dangerous and harmful things to myself. So I continue to hate spring, the evil son of a bitch, in all its fabled glory.