I suffer from what professionals call Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD. The family I grew up in called it "the wackies," although we called a lot of things "the wackies:" that feeling of dread you get on Sunday nights before facing a long work week, post-partum depression, and the crazy lady in the ward who likes to bear her testimony about her cat.
People who suffer from SAD don't always recognize it, but everyone around them does. Kulani knows to walk carefully, as if on egg shells. He watches me carefully and calls home often to make sure his girls and me are okay. Even the little girls sense a change in me: they scurry pretty fast when I get tense and my voice rises a notch or two. I'm not dangerous when SAD sets in, but I do get grumpy faster than normal.
My symptoms include not wanting to go outside or anywhere. Not caring about much of anything, including taking a shower or brushing my teeth. If I could build a cacoon of blankets around me and stay in one spot until spring, I would. But not doing anything makes it worse, and I start to feel like a caged bird needing to get out. I don't really want to talk to anyone or see anyone except my little family.
I hate it. Like people who suffer from depression, you learn to trudge through it. I know it will go away when the sun comes out. How do people live in places like Minnesota, North Dakota, Sweden, or Seattle? If it gets really bad, I may invest in one of those special lamps you sit in front of that are supposed to help. I've developed other coping skills as well. I force myself to do those things I don't want to do. Exercise really helps. And I let little things fall by the wayside. And thankfully I have a loving, understanding husband who knows when to step in and take the girls and me for a night out.
I have so many things I have wanted to blog about: the fantastic Fisher Christmas party hosted by Kuhia and Susan; the lessons learned from this year's Christmas gifts; and my New Year's goals for weight loss. But I'm feeling too blah-zay to write anything, well, except for this. Don't expect any pictures with this post.