Splinth of pain

I stare out my office window and despite my vertical blinds, I’m squinting. A bright white sun in a pale blue sky bleaches the green of the grass and evergreens, fades the rust of fallen leaves. A few cold spells have caused the leaves to drop, but the weather remains warm and our lawns are still growing.

Because of this blessing of weather, this gift from God, my seasonal affective disorder is as much at bay as its ever been for this time of year. Still, it is present.

Down deep, inside. Like a core gone bad, heartwood emptied by some ill worm. It hurts. Not the emptiness itself, but the awareness that I am hale and healthy and have no cause for sadness or discomfort, and yet sadness lurks. That dichotomy causes the splinth of pain around which the core-rot appears to fester.

But I only notice it when I’m given cause to. Just keep me busy doing anything and I’m fine. Or, when I’m given cause to feel sad, or feel deeply, and the void becomes apparent. It opens, and I fall in.

A couple of evenings, a couple of weeks apart. I curl up in my recliner with an afghan and shut out the world, distract myself from myself by watching DVD after DVD until I’m too exhausted to hold on.

Then, I sleep. In the morning, its usually better.

However, on any given day, I’m as fine as ever. Maybe a little bit more scatter-brained, but naught else.

What’s a splinth?