Why February Sucks

I’m grateful for a sunny Friday morning. I’m grateful for the end of February. I’m grateful for really cool opportunities. I’m grateful for all of the hanging in. I’m grateful for where I’m going. I’m grateful to not know where that is. I’m grateful to be sober today.

Mystery ?? Button

song of the week:

I f***ing hate February. I have my reasons (don’t worry, we’re going to be exploring that in depth). February is my personal Bermuda Triangle, where I suddenly find myself lost in a whole different world. I look back at previous Februarys,1 It’s like I’m watching a movie of someone else doing really disastrous stuff, squirming in my seat, hoping against hope, you’re not really going to do that, are you?

It’s a hard movie to watch because he always does.

I’ve been sober for more than five years at this point, and I still have these moments wherein I very lucidly remember something I did or said back in the olden days (or a combo of saying and doing) and just feel an instant wave of revulsion and regret wash over me. I imagine the faces of the people on the receiving end of my nonsense, the looks of pain and disappointment and fear in they eyes of the people who loved me, the people I hurt so badly. There’s a lot of residual shame that wells up and washes over me, kind of the way oatmeal will foam over the top of the pot if you’re not paying attention.2

February is like walking in a graveyard for me; wandering in the darkness between the tombstones and having to remember a lot of what happened. On top of this, there is a pretty strong seasonal component to the depression that has been a companion to me for most of my life. It’s funny, because I get about one-third of the way through February and think, this is not so bad, maybe things are getting better. Then kaboom, I’m sitting on the sofa and even the prospect of chinese food being delivered to my apartment is not enough to rouse me from my torpor.

It’s actually quite a bit worse than that. I’ve had lots of Februarys to observe the phenomenon and I know that it follows pretty much the same course. I start to feel tired all of the time, but have serious difficulties sleeping. Even things I cherish and love seem not so appealing and it’s hard to muster the energy to do things, enjoy things, care about things. I get sick a lot in February.

As things grow a little darker, I begin questioning myself and what I’m doing. I note for myself the absurdity of the things I’m pursuing, the impossibility of what I’m trying to do, the ridiculousness of the things I dream about. All of the good stuff in my life recedes, like I’m looking through the telescope backwards, and I feel lost and lonely and things just seem very, very dark.

Of course, part of the problem is that February is kind of a dark month and it comes after January, which is light-wise, very, very dark. Physically, I know this is part of the problem, However, I will note that even the year that I lived in sunny Florida through the dreaded February doldrums, well, they were still the February doldrums. Did I mention that Februarys have been super eventful for me and not in the good way?

I got engaged twice and married once in the month of February.3 I’ve had two really important relationships end in February. I had to report back to sleepaway rehab one February. I got tossed out of an IOP in February.4 I’m sure some good things have happened, I just don’t seem to be able to recall them off-hand.

I know enough these days to just hunker down when February comes and stock up on the pop-tarts and Apple Jacks.5 My strategy these days is to wait it out and try to limit the amount of self-reproachment that usually goes on. YouTube is a pretty potent ally in the waiting it out phase, but even YouTube could not prevent me from dangerously falling in love again during this very dismal month.

I’m talking about the song of the week now. YouTube suggested this video to me and I was instantly seduced by the leisure suit, if we’re going to be honest. My Grandpa B had a leisure suit in almost this exact color in 1975, also worn with the cuffs unbuttoned. One difference: Instead of the mod turtleneck sported in the video, Grandpa B preferred a shirt and tie and buttoned up the front of the leisure suit. Two differences: Grandpa B did not get down like this:

Not to go on too long, but I can’t stop listening to this. I have been working on the adjust the glasses wink and smile move—there is a lot of power in that. This is the part where I would start blabbing on at length about the way I made it through this February was with self-love and honesty and compassion and acceptance, it feels like that’s all I talk about anymore. I’m going to tell you how I got through February:

I raw-dogged it.

This is not necessarily what you think,6 it’s something you see on social media wherein younger people do the unthinkable and unplug from their devices for unimaginable periods of time—like sometimes hours. They confront their demons and let their brains be occupied by nothing but their own thoughts and imaginations during multi-hour plane flights or even train rides to the Hamptons. On this basis, I’ve raw-dogged my entire life— from 1962 until the early 2000’s. But enough bragging.

I knew February was going to suck. I’m generally a pretty positive person, but let’s just call it for what it is:

February is a garbage month.

That’s my opinion. Some of you like February and that’s cool. Some people even look forward to Valentine’s Day or the Super Bowl or all of the other great stuff that goes on in February. My view and my view alone: If it’s so great, why are there only 28 days of it.7 Also, what the f*** is up with the groundhog? Seriously? If the highlight of February is a rodent predicting weather, I think I’m just going to stay in my den and let the rest of you drink it all in.

Random thought: Maybe bears suffer from depression and hibernation is not just about sleeping?

So, I raw-dogged February. I knew it was going to suck, I knew I was going to be stuck in cycles of upsetting thinking, I knew my motivation levels were going to be hovering around zero, I knew I was going to try to take myself apart brick-by-brick to see if that felt any better.8

The trick for me is not taking February very seriously. The task is being ready when the crazy, dark thoughts start crawling out of the crevices and deep recesses of my alcoholic brain. I don’t need to engage those dark thoughts and mow them down like the malicious, hungry zombies they are; the trick is to let those jokers run right past me. The trick is to keep doing the simple things, even when I don’t really want to.

I don’t mean to take credit for herculean tasks like walking in Central Park on Sunday mornings, or going to the Farmers Market in the dead of winter or spending the weekend cooking and reading and letting the glorious awfulness of February just wash over me and then depart. But, the effort involved in doing those normally pleasurable things does amp up pretty significantly in February.

My thoughts in February can resemble what it might look like if you suddenly let a bunch of really angry monkeys out of a monkey insane asylum and then told them who was responsible for them being in the monkey insane asylum in the first place. Also, the person probably responsible for the terrible food in the monkey insane asylum.

I recognize that the feelings the monkeys are unleashing aren’t based in reality or logic or truth; they’re likely products of repressed fear and anger from things that happened a long time ago but are still working their way out. They don’t mean anything. They don’t have any real power.

Once the insane monkey posse has passed by, I take a deep breath and realize that I’ll soon be seeing daffodils and forsythia. I realize that all of the dark stuff is just remnants of what was and what, very fortunately, doesn’t have to be what “is” anymore.

It’s just February.

Did I mention I’m really glad it’s over?

Happy Friday.