I sat up last night at 4:30 in the morning watching the snowfall. I never felt more alone, but for once, it was okay, because I was surrounded by beauty and anything breaking the silence would've changed that.

It's something about winter that is so beautifully depressing. I have a love/hate relationship with it. I love it because of all of the things it brings, but I hate it because of all of the things that it does to me.

I love seeing the snow and I love Christmas and my birthday and the fact that even if they don't really feel like it, people feel obligated to be nice to one another at this time of the year. I love the lights and the contrast of dark nights and bright, gleaming snow. It's like a carpet of jewels, laid out in front of you.

I hate the fact that every year, without fail, I get dragged down into the gray skies and long nights. I hate the cold and the lonely feeling that so matches the weather. I hate the seemingly monochromatic scenery that's so beautiful and so ugly all at the same time. I hate the fact that most of the time, it feels like it's never going to end and the fact that it's so hard to remember what summer feels like when you're cold and wet.

And so begins the fall into the depths of winter depression. Unless you've been there, you can't understand it, but that's the case with most things. I often enter into a self-imposed isolation, and then feel shitty people no one wants to be around me.

We'll see how it goes this year. Maybe it'll be okay. Probably not, but maybe.