When writing my last post I found myself struggling to “complete the thought” of the post while retaining the same train of thought I held when I began writing it. As the words spiraled off it was a firm signal to me that my SAD (seasonal affective disorder) is in full swing. I’ve been feeling the grip of its claws for a few days now as the demons begin to surface and force their way into my thoughts.
It arrived late this year. Normally it arrives in early to mid-November. That I was able to manage through the holidays without it showing up is a testament to the support I have of those close to me in my life right now.
Normally I would choose to shut down and go into an emotional hibernation mode, marathon-ing shows or movies while trying to wait out the turbulence. Right now I feel cloudy, but wide awake.
Normally this would terrify me. While I often write from a stoic or mechanical point of view, I’m old school emo. I feel and process my emotions intensely. I use the cries of my heart to feel alive.
I’ve never been diagnosed officially with SAD. I’ve just noticed for the past 20 years or so that I get depressed when the days grow shorter and the weather turns brutal and it lasts until the weather warms up and the sun shines. December is also a bad month for me in my history. I can’t quite tell if this seasonal cycle is actually coming from past pain or if it’s simply my chemicals going out of whack.
When the demons come calling, the memories inevitably return. December was the first time my heart was truly broken. December was when my fuck-face of an adopted father died and I allowed myself to be talked into seeing him on his death bed. The only thing that overpowered my sense of rage at him was the shame I felt for allowing others to convince me to compromise my principles. December is the anniversary of my adoption. It was on one said anniversary when I learned the truth that I had been adopted into a family that no longer held love in it, and that they had known for over two years that the love was gone but since it was a seven year wait-list for adoption, they chose to get me anyways. I still seethe when I recall that. December is the month that I lost my grandmother, the one person in my family that showed me unconditional love.
There’s a part of me that is angry at myself because the same old garbage continues to haunt me almost two-decades later. I feel like I should move on but it’s these times that bring it all back. I can’t help but ache at the sense of loss. The people who are gone. The life I might have had. I’ve stopped worrying if this is pathetic, I simply accept that it is.
It’s sort of strange that I have always turned to music as a way of processing pain. It’s sort of funny that even though my life is not the way it was, the same types of songs are the ones that speak to me and make my heart stir. One great thing from 2018 was that I discovered some new music that happens to have words that would have been dear to my 20-year old self. During these times the way my heart aches reminds me of that version of myself.
This song in particular speaks to that old version of me:
Tiny Moving Parts – The Better Days
The “what ifs” are killing me
Keeping me awake
I lie to myself
But my heart is too smart to be tricked my brain
I’m not okay… I’m not
But I will be someday
I’m strong, but I’m wounded
I can tell myself I’m moving on
But that’s just a poor excuse for comfort
It’s just camouflage for abandonment
And I can spend my life waiting for the grand moment
You take me back and make me laugh again
That would be a miracle
Which is impossible by definition
But I miss you
I know you can hear it in my voice when I talk to you
I can see it in your eyes
I used to love your eyes
I used to love our lives
Living is what I’ll do
It’s always what I’ve done
The clouds have got to show the sun
I will find the better days
Deep down I know they’ll always be in reach
I’ve reduced to how I usually feel when I fix to mind that I won’t see you
I’ve reduced to how I usually feel ’cause I won’t see you
Maybe one of these years I will find a way to heal. Until then, I will ride this out as I always have.