SAD

Paraphrased from an old dooce post. I wanted to share in case anyone needed to read it. This is pretty spot on. I'm grateful to be in a good place right now, but if you know someone out there (or even a little closer to home) that finds September (or any season) hard, take heart. It won't last forever.

Five years ago Jon and I took a mid-week afternoon drive through the Alpine Loop to take photographs of burnt red trees and the sharp shadows of aspens standing in formation, ready to march, waiting for a signal. We stopped for lunch at Sundance, several memory cards full of images telling the story of the mountain's transformation.

Jon looked at me over my iced tea and asked me what was wrong. I didn't know what to say to him because, while I knew there was something wrong, I didn't know what it was.
What is worse? Being sad because something tragic has happened, or being sad because that is all your brain knows how to do?

My psychiatrist recently told me that more people commit suicide in March and September than during any other time of year. The rapid change in light, he says, roughs up those of us who have those frayed circuits in our brains, even if we're medicated.

Now we know, and I thought that the knowing would make it easier. And it has in that September will turn into October and October will merge with November, and I won't be sitting at my desk feeling sad for no reason. But it's knowing that there is no reason that makes it even more unbearable. Because as much as a person with depression is sad, we are the same measure of angry that we can't just stop feeling this way.

Now that we know, I finally have an excuse to look forward to winter.