I took a walk along the River Kelvin this morning to get myself out of the house. It’s Reading Week and we don’t have any classes, but I put pressure on myself to write. That lasted for all of a day before things broke down. It wasn’t just that—I’ve been feeling off for months.
Most days I’ll walk along the Forth and Clyde Canal to get to the grocery store. In October, November, December, I walked the opposite way, following the Kelvin into town. I walked the canal on the right side until just before the Maryhill Locks, then crossed to walk by the river for a while on its left. At the end of that route is Humpback Bridge and the winding stairs into the Botanic Gardens, then on to Byres Road and up into the University. When I retraced my steps to go home after class, sometimes I’d miss that turn up to the Locks and walk too far, not paying attention. I decided to take that path today.
It made me sad to see the river was half-frozen. The weather is about to turn—it likely won’t fully freeze again until next winter. I liked the texture of what the ice reflected on the surface: bare trees, blue skies, grey clouds. It’s been cold enough the last few days that patches of ice have formed on the walking path in places where water drains out of the land. I’m fearless in the hiking-turned-gardening boots I’ve had since I was twenty-three.
Winter was the only season I had never seen before in Scotland. Now my first, this one, is almost over. It’s getting on into late February and spring is around the corner, as they say. I have to admit, I’ve never understood that expression. Where does one find a corner on a day? If it did have such a thing, I bet it would be less of a corner and more of a bend.
There wasn’t much foot traffic along the river going up into Maryhill. The cold air was sharp on the tip of my nose and my cheeks, which I loved. The reminder that I needed, I am alive.
Dissociation. Seasonal affective disorder. Depression. Low vitamins. Mold exposure. Not enough socialization. Poor oxygen. No exercise. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t really want to. I mean, that’s a lie. I do know what it is. I don’t know why I have it. For me, it’s not uncommon. Days and weeks pass like this sometimes. What I know is that when I’m in it, it’s impossible to understand that it could ever end. There is no telling yourself ‘someday you won’t feel like this’ because, well, rhetoric.
someday, assumes time is relevant, a recognized resource that has set bounds
you, which me? the one before? the one now? in my physical body? or the one inside my head? be specific
won’t, as in will not, but how can something stop when it is fundamentally without beginning or end?
feel, as if this was only an emotion, and not an eternally existent state of being
like this, this is all I know and ever have known and ever will know, because ‘like this’ is just how I exist
I don’t appreciate when people try to interact with me because I’m feeling this way. They always do it wrong. It’s why I mostly keep it to myself and a few very close friends. There is a watch that I refuse to be put on. Thoughts and prayers that I don’t need. Or maybe I do, I’ve just been used to taking care of myself. Don’t pick up the phone to call or text now. Relax, I’m just a little blue.
Moss and lichen grow all over the branches of the trees on the part of the Kelvin that leads north out of Glasgow. According to the Scottish Wildlife Trust and RHS websites, this is fine. It’s not doing them any harm. In fact, it’s good for the ecosystem. Birds take the moss as nesting material. It’s a food source for many types of moths. Did you know moths are pollinators? They’re also a source of food for bats, birds, spiders, and hedgehogs. All of my favorite creatures, except missing my ladybugs.
There are a lot of birds by the river. Mostly magpies and crows, robins and treecreepers. A dozen or so pairs of mallards. I saw a grey heron once, though I’m not really sure. Its beak wasn’t as yellow as the reference photos. There’s something symbolic about a bird taking flight overhead while you pass beneath it, though I’m still trying to work that out. The closest I’ve come is it feels like they’re carrying your thoughts somewhere else. Somewhere away. The thoughts from that exact moment, when you crossed paths. To do what with, I’m not sure.
I like looking up into the trees while I walk. It’s a break from diligently watching my feet. I’m afraid to trip and fall. Without the leaves on the trees, I can see all the nests. It’s unclear who they belong to, though I know some are for squirrels. The paved path turned to dirt in Dawsholm Park, and the mud was crusted over with ice. Highland cows are kept in a field up there and I feel bad for them. I’m sure they’re happy enough, but they seem out of place fifteen minutes’ walk from a Greggs.
I won’t say this time spent outside made me feel better, because it didn’t. But it made me feel. I had to leave the river behind when I turned off into the park. I saw a can of Tennent’s hanging off the branch of a tree, then I left a strand of my hair for the faeries. They took it before I walked away, so I left them another.
When I got home, I ran the shower and a song played with an album cover that is a re-creation of Judith Slaying Holofernes. That was the painting that introduced me to my favorite artist, Artemisia Gentileschi. Some sites say ‘beheading’ instead of ‘slaying’ and I’m not sure which one is correct. My skin was red, like the bands of fabric at Judith’s arms, when I got undressed, from the cold. I like to leave the windows open for a while in the mornings, even while I shower. They take away the steam.
I’ll get out of the hot water and write for a bit, I decide. For something that doesn’t matter. For this. I’ll write down all of this.
It’s been a long day, take off your shoes
It’s been a hard year, I’m talking to you
Are we gonna make it? ’cause I have to
I don’t wanna be here, but I do