I _really_ HATE February.
28 (+1 every 4) of the darkest, greyest, numbest days in my year.
At this time I'm at my lowest ebb ... the thoughts that batter me are loudest and most insistent, shredding me, and I feel _nothing_.
It's a time to simply endure ... to cling tightly to the knowledge that this is the 50th February I have witnessed and, as with all 49 previous, this soul sucking grey will pass and the inside of my skull will become easier to manage (relatively speaking).
I don't think it's so much that this month is in any way worse than the 11 others in the calendar, although the lack of sunlight and SAD could account for some of it. It's more like, during this month, I just can't maintain the facade of functionality that I seem to the rest of the year. This is when I isolate the most, drawing away from as much of the world and the people in it as I can ... the agoraphobia demands that I maintain a tight control upon my responses so that I do not lose control and draw attention to me and this is when I'm least able to do it.
A current catch-phrase going around is "invisible disabilities are real" and, while true, mine aren't nearly as invisible as I'd like to pretend they are right now.