No, wait. That's not exactly true. Each year, I forget about it until it's too late. Until it's already here, until I'm already mired in it. I can't explain why or how I forget, but I do.
Or, rather, I suppose it's even more honest to say that I don't forget it will happen; I forget what it's really like.
If you don't know what I'm talking about, be thankful. It means you can spend all year, all four glorious, changing seasons, feeling like your "normal," typical self. The change in weather, the first few months of the calendar year don't affect you. You barely notice them, maybe, save for the extra moments you pad into your morning routine in order to scrape ice off your windshield, or that giddy feeling we've all had waiting to see if school is canceled. Hell, lots of people even enjoy this time of year, smiling as they unearth the gloves and thermal long john underwear in order to head even farther North into the wild, white yonder.
Not me.
This isn't just some sort of "oh, I don't like sweaters and boots and snow" kind of feeling. I actually enjoy sweaters and boots and snow. This isn't just an annoyance with the trivial difficulties that come with living in the relative North or a preference for warmer weather. This is a temporary, annual game changer. For about three months, I'm not me. I am, as they say, a shell of my former self.
I can only assume that many people don't believe that Seasonal Affective Disorder is real, or that it's all in my head. I assure you, it is not. I was actually diagnosed six years ago and participated in a clinical trial for a new treatment method. I'm very, very lucky, I realize: this only invades my world for a few months; it's quite unpleasant, but not crippling (though for some, it is); I live alone, so it doesn't impact anyone else these days. (Morris actually benefits.) But still. Seasonal or not, the symptoms are the same.
I'm not the most eloquent person, but a friend described it as "feeling like you're walking around in a cloud of grey cotton." (Or something similar. I'm sure I've forgotten his words verbatim.) That makes it sound sort of nice: clouds and cotton are both cozy; grey is a classy neutral. Unfortunately, I don't feel like I'm living in a world of over-washed Gap t-shirts, though the general point is well taken. Let me try to explain it, though really, a quick Wiki would do the trick.
I lose interest in everything, including--especially--those things that usually bring me joy, like reading, the gym, going out with my friends, food, sex (when I'm having it, which isn't now), and shopping. I have to drag myself to social events or my beloved gym class. I'm tired all the time. I go to bed early. I sleep late. When I can't sleep late, I'm more exhausted than usual as a result. My first thought every morning is going back to bed. I'm hungry, but I don't want to eat. Or, conversely, I eat without being hungry. I burst into tears for no reason, or in inappropriate places. My mind feels foggy, like my brain exists outside my skull, hovering in some sort of ether. I'm not motivated to do anything. I lose patience (even more) quickly. I'm irritable. I am, generally, just miserable to be around.
Good grief, even I can't stand me.
One of the odd-yet-typical results of all of this is that I tend to fixate on two things: a certain kind of food and a TV show. One year it was rice pudding and That 70's Show. Another was Raisinettes and Everybody Loves Raymond. I'd race home from work, take a two hour nap, wake up, get a tub of rice pudding and a spoon and turn on one of those channels that only shows syndicated sitcoms. I'd sit there in the dark, watching admittedly terrible television with an empty Kozy Shack container/bag of Raisinettes in my hands until my eyelids got heavy and then go to bed. Those things, pudding and Hyde, chocolate raisins and Robert Barone, were all I looked forward to all day. Well, and sleep. (Looking forward to Everybody Loves Raymond? I know, right? I must be sick!) This year, the objects of my pathetic affection are MSNBC and Basic 4 cereal. I'd like to think that this is an improvement in both directions.
I know I'm not alone. Lots of people suffer from seasonal (or clinical) depression. I know I could take medicine, do light therapy, or up my vitamin D intake. (I do that, actually, when I remember. Which isn't often. See above: foggy brain.) And I'll reiterate that I am very, very thankful that while this is annual, it's also temporary. My regularly scheduled self will return after these cold-weather messages. Others aren't as lucky.
But seriously, in our evolution as a species, why did we get rid of hibernation?
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