Winter 2010. I managed to get a job working for an online shopping company, and until I had another relapse of depression and anxiety, it went largely ok.
The one thing I remember about that period before Christmas was the intense cold. As my car was off the road, damaged beyond repair, I had to get trains and a taxi to work each night, costing me money that I could barely afford, despite getting a regular wage. It was at this time that I was in a lot of debt, and struggling to pay off bills. Despite trying to concentrate on the job in hand, the peripheral stuff was causing more problems.
Anyway, one morning, I had to get the train back to London. The temperature was around -13, extremely cold. I get to the station and manage to get the train as the station staff were saying “this will be the last one for the foreseeable future”. So I was lucky. When I returned to home, I had to order some flowers for my sister’s birthday. I hadn’t warmed up at all, and when I got into the florists, my hands were blue with cold, despite wearing gloves.
I tried to write the birthday message and my hand just cramped up. The message came out as an unintelligible scrawl that a young child would have turned their nose up at. The temperature was still bone chilling. I managed to reach home and switch the heating on full blast.
That was a very bleak midwinter, and the depression and anxiety was about to wash over me more markedly than the extreme cold. The legacy of the failed marriage and Mum’s passing was still troubling me. Trauma has a funny way of destroying every fibre of your being.
Winter 2010. Forgettable and traumatising.
Thanks for looking in
Allen Brooks xx