And you know how little I like serious. Those that know me do anyway, many of you might be unacquainted with me (I won't say you are strangers, it's not how I like to see the world) and a few that do know me will be lightly acquainted with the little eccentricities that come about in the later portion of the year. There are a few quirks that I have and of course so does everybody, it's what makes life a little more interesting - indeed, in a spin on the view of Penn Jillette and his stance on liking it when people have stories, if you don't have some quirk, flaw, twist or kink then I can't really see wanting to talk to you - but there is one which I'm specifically alluring to when mentioning the time of year. This is my pretty severe Seasonal Affective Disorder.
It wasn't really something that became a thing until the last 6 or 7 years - there were times beforehand but mild and manageable - and for the last 4 or so it's been painful. It's not the most severe disorder somebody can have (things like schizophrenia or bipolar ranking up there) yet I have been encouraged by people to actually regard it as a pretty heavy one to have, one which is dangerous to people, that is not a sing of me being weak, and that has consequences. I would have said a couple years ago that is also comes with responsibilities but that's perhaps not the exact frame of mind or turn of phrase which describes what my view of it was. It's also less relevant as others have assured me I should feel no burden. My tendency towards having a kind of guilt complex about things has meant it difficult to "let go" of that notion but to my credit I've achieved great progress there.
I don't really like to call it a "disorder" yet it is the best classification available for it and certainly not as degrading as I first thought it sounded. I refuse to refer to it as a disease though, that's reserved for communicable infections in my mind. Same reason when hearing bad news about something that has happened to somebody else I cannot say "I'm sorry" unless it was me that caused it. Whenever I hear something like "my pet was hit by a car yesterday" and the person replies back "Aww, I'm sorry..." I expect the first to lunge at them yelling "You mean it was you?!".
Wait, yes, serious face...
I've got the lamp for simulating sunlight, bottle of vitamin D pills which are 1250% the daily values, bright colours, happy music playlists, yet still I will be floored. Literally on the floor sometimes, struggling to breathe, dry heaving, very occasional and unprovoked sobbing, hallucinations, disorientation, insomnia, waking nightmares (oh, the stories that I have about those...), confusion, short attention span, unable to think or even understand. My mood takes drastic swings usually towards the impatient and aggressive before returning to a quiet and sombre void. To some limited degree I become bipolar and schizophrenic. I cook food which pretty much comes in packages that just need to be put in the oven then eaten, so that I don't have to use knives, even goes as far as to hide them behind a pile of other stuff. Not that I'm any kind of risk to myself but think of it as more somebody who was quitting smoking or are on a diet; they're fine so far with sticking to the plan but you wouldn't light up a cigarette around them or start eating a piece of cake as, while they may still hold true, it still gives them that unwanted thought they they'd prefer not to have.
My "happy place" would be escape into Minecraft, yet some server instability left me adrift more than a few times. I also took a great joy in being part of a sadly short-lived series. For a short time though, while pushing through over a month on pure willpower, I had a small reprieve with medication when after a varied sampling we found Xanax evened me out to a functional level. I was not better, I was not good, but I would operate.
And after the 8 days supply was exhausted, I was not given a refill. The doctor was spouting cases where some people would get addicted and how hypnotherapy would be a better option; coincidentally his specialisation. Also my insurance would not cover it so I'd have to pay him, up front, about 100 euros a session. For multiple sessions. It may even take many and there was no guarantee of any kind of result.
You can imagine my response to that, then soon came the descent as the last of the Xanax left my system, dropping me back down into the pit. I'm still not sure if that made it all the more worse, to come up for air, only to be drug back under again.
To say I don't want sympathy is not a complete lie, yet any people give is certainly welcome as a selfish comfort, but it's more wanting it understood that I'm going to be a bit of a grumpybottom for a while and if I'm unpleasant to you or somebody else it is not anything personal and all that jazz. Others have arguably more heavier circumstances, be it dealing with other depression or illness or life circumstances, and I never like to think of myself as a special snowflake but I have carved out this little corner of my existence as my own that I have come to accept as going to be with me and part of what I am. Even plant a little flag on it.
