I Fell Headlong Into November's Depression Again
I'm parked in front of my SAD light eating vitamin D and trying to avoid looking out the window, because we've had our first snow.
Fine, I will acknowledge the snow, but I still won't look outside:
Snow isn't really so awful, but it's what it tells me that is. I fell headlong into my seasonal depression again this year, and I haven't wanted to admit that it was happening. I know I'm not the only one. Can I get a hells-yeah from my fellow seasonal depression-ers?
I write this entry late every fall and late every spring. In these entries, I tell you that I suddenly fell into a deep and pervasive depression again, despite all of my previous experience with my seasonal sadness and plans to thwart it, and I tell you how I am dragging myself from place to place now with all the gusto of three-week-old spinach.
As usual, I had the best of intentions. I have been taking 5-HTP and vitamin D to help stave off the sadness, and I was going to start the light therapy soon, because it's really effective in my case. I guess I wasn't quick enough on the draw, though, because seasonal depression is the honey badger of illnesses. It doesn't give a fuck. It rears itself up and throws me down despite my good intentions, as though part of my brain sees me scheduling preventative treatment and decides that I am not allowed to win. The seasonal depression decides that I am shapeless and ugly and unlovable and incompetent and worthless.
This is all lies, though, and that's why I write this entry twice a year. Depression lies, and I have to remind myself that this is true more than everything else that my depression makes me feel is true. I am not shapeless and ugly and unlovable and incompetent and worthless. This feeling and the lies it makes me believe are not all there is to reality. Other, better things are true, and I will see those things again.
The medication will kick in, the light therapy will pick up some of the slack in a few days, I will go outside every day to see the world beyond my apartment, and time will change things, because that is what time does. I have been at this for almost 40 years, and every time the depression hits, it feels like forever, and every time it hasn't been.
And you, my fellow under-the-weather-ers, my fellow bed-in weepers, my comrades in depression? Let's do this thing, because I'm not writing this just for me. I'm writing this to remind you, too. Depression might be a honey badger, but even honey badgers get tired eventually, and this will get better, even if we have to talk to doctors and take meds and call hotlines, because it's worth it.