anecdotes and reflections on life with depression and anxiety
Fall has come.
The humid, 90-degree days have, at long last, left New England -- and good riddance, I say. The air has that crisp tinge of autumn to it, the sky an invigorating blue. I’ve gone to my first harvest festival on a farm. I’ve eaten an apple cider doughnut. I’ve worn flannel (oh, how I love to wear flannel). My social media feeds burst with back to school pictures, then with little ones picking apples and families posing in pumpkin patches. My group of friends has set a date for our annual Friendsgiving dinner, and my in-laws have booked plane tickets to come for Thanksgiving in November. My fuzzy slippers have found their way out of the back of my closet.
The other parts of fall have come, too: grey days of rain and mist, the gradual realization that the sun is setting earlier and earlier each day. In a few weeks we’ll turn our clocks back an hour, thanks to Daylight Savings. I used to love that night, the one marked by an extra hour of sleep, but now I look ahead to it warily, not craving the sleep as much as I fear how the dark evenings will begin to creep up even earlier each day, culminating with the 4:00pm dusk that we get for a few very short (and yet, very long) days a year in December.
It’s coming, that time of year that pulls me like a magnet into my bed, that makes me want to sleep for days on end, that seeps into my brain and tricks me into thinking the sun will never come out again.
You may gather from these words that I have mixed feelings about the season. Autumn has always been a time I looked forward to -- the coziness, the quaint New Englandy harvest-themed events, the return of steaming mugs of morning coffee after a summer of clinking ice cubes in my cold brew. But now, I approach September and the following months with less a sense of warm contentment and more an air of trepidation.
Because, as you might have guessed, I have seasonal affective disorder.
I’ve had about a year to digest this diagnosis. Last fall, as the days grew shorter and my mood grew dimmer, my therapist and I began talking about the likelihood that the “winter blues” I had tried to ignore for years had become (or maybe had always been) SAD. (The acronym for this thing always makes me want to laugh and then cry.) Together, we strategized ways I could deal with the rapid worsening of my mood, the deeper sense of sadness I was feeling, the sense of helplessness that pervaded my outlook of the upcoming holidays. I was most worried about how damn tired I was -- all the time, no matter whether I slept or exercised or napped or ate well. The fatigue felt like an enormous concrete wall, a monolith I just kept ramming into headfirst, day after day.
But I remember leaving my appointment that day feeling empowered to tackle this new diagnosis. Somehow having the validation of a label lit a fire in me -- I felt like I knew what was coming and I could arm myself against the impending doom and gloom (figuratively and literally).
I took vitamin D (I do this year-round, but most vigilantly in the fall and winter); I got back on fish oil. Instead of burning cozy, fall-scented candles, I stocked up on bright, summery, scents: Mango Tango, Pineapple Cilantro. I asked my husband, who gets up before I do in the mornings, to pull open the curtains and turn on lights throughout our apartment, to lessen the temptation to linger in the dark. I walked outside, even on days when I couldn’t get to it until the sky was dimming to dusk. I tried to go to bed and get up at the same time every day (but no, I was not getting up at 7am on weekends, because, weekends).
All of this helped. But it wasn’t enough.
So, after a few weeks, I did the single most effective thing I have done to fight my seasonal affective disorder. I did some research and bought a sun lamp.
If you don’t know, light therapy or phototherapy is the use of certain types of light boxes to mimic outdoor sunlight. For it to work, it has to emit 10,000 lux of light (don’t ask me what this means) and minimize UV rays. There are varying recommendations, but what has worked for me is turning it on at my desk first thing in the morning and sitting in front of it (not looking at it!) as I go about my work, for 30ish minutes (or maybe 45 on those really dark, short days).
It’s very, very bright. It’s not particularly pleasant. The one I bought isn’t particularly cute, either (cat stickers helped with this part). But holy hell, guys, it worked.
My energy lifted. My mood lightened. I felt like I could actually get through the day without sinking into my bed with an very serious announcement (to my husband, or my cat, or just myself) that I was hibernating until spring. I felt like I could do my work and then go do other stuff, without a three-hour nap first.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was better.
This year, the familiar apprehension toward the imminent shortening of days started to make itself known in early August. (As my father-in-law likes to say in a dry, faux-cheerful tone: “Summer’s all downhill after the Fourth of July!”)
I was starting to allow the seasonal affective disorder to control my plans and behaviors before it even set in, even when I was feeling well otherwise. I remembered how capable, how equipped I felt last fall once I named what I was dealing with and faced it head-on. I remembered that while I can’t control the changing of the seasons, I can absolutely control how I think about them and how I take care of myself as the leaves turn and the afternoons darken. I can make choices now that will help me take care of my future self then.
I dug the sun lamp out of my closet, set a cheery candle called “Color Me Happy” on my desk, and went for a walk on my favorite sun-splattered trail on the first day of fall.
My duo of fall game faces: sitting in front of my beloved sunlamp, and enjoying changing colors at a local swamp trail.
oh, hey --
My name is Lauren. I'm thirty-something, and I like to take naps and read good books and watch bad television. I love my husband and I love my cat, and I live with depression and anxiety, which is mostly what you'll read about here.