Elan Morgan is a writer and web designer who works from Elan.Works, a designer and editor at GenderAvenger, and a speaker who has spoken across North America. They believe in and work to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

I Nearly Became A Giant, Yellow Sun To Beat Back The Winter Depression

Late February/early March has me questioning my sanity every year. I managed my seasonal depression exceptionally well this winter, especially if you take into consideration that it's the first winter of my adult life that I have had to face it sober, and I almost had myself convinced that I going to make it through to late spring without having to consider hiding all the kitchen knives.

I was such a fool.

About a week ago, the sadness, the deep and terrible sadness that eats joy for breakfast and hates baby animals, started to creep in. It was gaining a pretty strong puchase, too, convincing me that I was becoming really very much too fat to leave the house and that the Palinode was feeling unhappily trapped by marriage to his uninspired lump of a spouse and that, seeing as my life is nearly half over, I should give up vain pursuits like plucking my chin hair and shaving the hobbit fur off my disgusting feet.

This hostile psychological takeover wasn't sitting well with me, so I decided that NO WAY WAS MARCH GOING TO EAT MY BRAIN, and I decided to expose myself to rainbow toe socks! and cherry-scented nail polish!

rainbow toe socks plus cherry-scented nail polish!

My socks felt cozy and warm , and the nail polish smelled sweet, but I still found myself tearing up at the thought that children grow older and we all die. I obviously needed more of an injection of happiness than rainbow toe socks and and cherry-scented nail polish were bringing me.

This is when my brain took a sharp left turn and screamed WE SHOULD GO BUY SOME YELLOW BRISTLE BOARD AND DRESS UP LIKE A GIANT SUN AND TAKE OUR PICTURE WITH STRANGERS ON THE STREET.

To which I replied SHUT UP.

If it hadn't been below -30°C outside, and if I hadn't been paranoid about handing off my iPhone to strangers to take pictures, and if you lived in Regina, Saskatchewan, you might have seen me dancing up and down 11th Avenue in a giant sun costume acting out THE HAPPY-HAPPY-JOY-JOY-THAT-CAN-BE-OURS-EVEN-IF-WE-HAVE-TO-DRESS-UP-LIKE-GIANT-YELLOW-SUNS-AND-DANCE-ON-THE-STREET DANCE.

happy happy joy joy

This being the first sober February/March of my adult life, I am learning a few things:
  1. My past winter depressions were not solely due to my drinking, although it likely did contribute.
  2. Drinking cut out a lot of anxiety for me, which is probably why I did it so much.
  3. Sobriety can be just as fucked up as being liquored out of my gourd.
I did not end up dressing like a giant yellow sun, though, even though it seemed like one of my most brilliant ideas ever in the history of my ideas at the time. Instead, I trudged home and spent the rest of the afternoon wiggling my be-socked toes together and sniffing my cherry-scented nail polish. There may have been some rocking. And then I ate a lot of potatoes with a chocolate ice cream chaser.

Looking back, I do kind of regret not jumping on my giant yellow sun bandwagon of one, but my discovery of this new reflex to defend my joy has stuck with me. This being present in my own life thing is powerful stuff.

Sober me apparently believes in my right to happiness, and

sober me has the chutzpah to be my own little army of one against the fearsome depression, and

sober me is a bit of a freak with a brain that refers to US and WE when it's running its little internal monologues, but WE LIKE IT THAT WAY.

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PS.  Check out my daily Phoneography pic. It's the thing I do daily.

Counting Myself In

Rainbow Toe Socks And Ruby Red Rubber Boots