I have SAD. I’m not sure how much is the light business and how much is an anniversary reaction to massive abuse that happened at this time of year. I do know winter is hell on earth for me.

I have a light box. I hate to use it. It makes me better so it makes no sense not to use it. But I hate it. Last winter I realized it’s because sitting in front of it for an hour a day replicates all too closely some *other* childhood abuse. That’s the trouble with this PTSD stuff…you can end up with lots and lots of triggers.

Anyway, this winter I’m walking and, oddly, writing poetry. I say oddly because I hate poetry and simply cannot believe I feel better when I write it. Apparently I have an inner poet who’s been denied a voice. She likes to write bad poetry.

I walk in the hundreds of acres of woods near my house and have, so far, never had a better winter. I’m talking five or six miles a day, though. This takes time. A couple of hours every morning. I feel as if I’m walking for my life. I sure hope Social Security will understand what a crimp this would be to a working life should they ever decide to dump me.

It feels MUCH better to be doing this outside walking than to relive creepy stuff in front of a light box. We’ll see what happens as the earth tilts on its axis. Hopefully I won’t tilt with it.

If so, I’ll come back and read Mr. Hunk’s suggestions. Or just look at his picture. Either will do. {;>)