Fall blues.

I hate October. It’s my least favourite month and that’s saying something considering I live on the west/wet coast of British Columbia.  We’ve been known to have Novembers with zero days of sunshine. It’s not a good time. ^[i]

October kills my mood. It’s a pisser, and so far, somewhat unavoidable – it’s the loss of light. My mood tanks when light levels decrease. My psychiatrist put me on five thousand IUs of vitamin D a day to help and I’m supposed to try tanning a couple of times a month. I’ve tried these things before along with light therapy at home – you can borrow a unit from our local library – but success is middling.

Probably because the light’s not the only, or perhaps even the largest issue.

It’s the memories. I have October memories and they’re bad ones. Car accidents. Abuse. Rape. Death. Cancer. Suicide attempts. Worst playlist ever.

(Side note: my serious attempts are mostly in the fall. It’s my brain. Structure, not software. The amygdala to be precise. Amygdalae like light, they get grumpy without it. Mine is a touchy and damaged creature at the best of times and the dark months of a BC fall and winter aren’t those. She protests light’s absence with a shutdown. Regulating emotions is a challenge when she’s on strike. Perhaps a bribe?) ^[ii]

Body memories.

I’m going to try tanning beds again though I don’t enjoy it as much now that it’s “improved.” I liked the slow machines. I liked lying in a warm tube for twenty to thirty minutes, listening to music and relaxing while baking. The three-minute cycles aren’t nearly as much fun and, in this case, I believe time is more important than efficiency.

I read “The Body Keeps Score” by Bessel Van der Kolk a few years back. Some of the technical stuff was new, and some of the ways to move over and beyond memories of harm were new, but I’d concluded that trauma was stored in the body years back. I realized a few years after the anniversary of my first suicide attempt. I’d fall into a brief depression – a few weeks – every year. Other things suddenly started to make sense.

Body memory is why October sucks for me. It’s not necessarily a forever thing – I’m fine in April now – but recovery and a return to baseline takes time.

The body holds a grudge.

Anniversaries.

We’re a fan of the anniversary. We’re lousy with annual occurrences that mark the passing of years. Shrove Tuesday. Arbor Day. Halloween. 9/11.

Not all anniversaries are good ones.

It’s strange when you think about it. Our calendars are loaded with events both current and repeating. We even use stickers. We highlight the good stuff in multiple ways – stickers and circles with the occasional arrow for emphasis. “Disneyland!!!” We even cross-reference.

Neutral shows up too – oil changes, pap smears, walking the dog. The things that hurt us, however, we hide behind our stiff upper lips. We memorialize them nowhere. There are no “X died” stickers in the calendar packs. We’re good, we insist. It was a long time ago.

I never thought to put them on the calendar. I never thought to take a moment to remember, to actively pursue letting go. I think part of my brain assumed it would get better on its own, especially once I’d shared this story and that one.

I blame television. We say we know television isn’t real, but I’m thinking big chunks of our brains are unaware. We’re influenced by the media we consume to stunning degrees. When it comes to pain and trauma, television is quick resolutions and tidy summations. It ignores the impact of past events in favour of new storylines. And so “walk it off” becomes our ethos, even when the “it” is dire.

Nothing should take longer than a network season to recover from, right?

I still feel guilty sometimes that old memories still rankle. I feel frustrated and not a little bit weak that I still get knocked down by the arrival of fall. Comparisons are odious but we’re hardwired for those too, and I’m convinced that my doppelganger is out there somewhere walking it off way better.

Survival isn’t always enough for my achievement-infected and competitive brain. And October with its memories of very bad things makes me feel insufficient indeed.

Now what?

The long-range forecast isn’t sunny, neither literally nor metaphorically. It’s going to be a rough winter. And while pulling the covers over my head until March feels tempting, I’ve got things to do. Life things. Parent things, family things, friend things, social media justice warrior things. This is one of my biggest frustrations with depression.

Depression steals time. I don’t do much that reeks of productivity when I’m in the pit. I’m in the pit, you see, and that takes almost all your energy. You have to levitate to keep from falling further, and that’s energy-intensive, and you have to figure out a way back out. It’s tiring and that’s part of the battle fatigue that brings despair with cyclic depression.

It’s coming. I bounced out of a brief blip this week, but it’s coming. My depression is tidal. I need a plan. I think planning would be easier if I had access to unlimited wealth, but we are who we are.

The funny thing about depression is how you embrace shooting yourself in the feet when you’re in it. It’s easy to do things that make it worse. You don’t drink water. You don’t go outside. You don’t get dressed. You don’t practice self-care. Shockingly, none of those things make life better. On the bright side, withdrawal allows you to add a nice side dish of self-blame.

Once upon a time, I kept recovery lists on various mirrors about the house. In my bedroom, and the bathroom and the hall. On the fridge as well. But they aren’t Home & Gardens and I eventually removed them. It’s a shame because they help. But it’s hard to let go of the idea that mental illness is something you need to hide.

You don’t think clearly when you’re depressed. I removed the lists when I was fine and I told myself I would remember the steps and ideas. Evidence says that was a lie. I’m dehydrated right now – I track my water daily and I’ve dropped from six large glasses to two. I haven’t done anything about it yet, but I’ve noticed.

I drop the simple things when depression is ascendant because you don’t think they matter and they take a lot of energy when you’re down. But as is the case with much in life, the simple things are the ones that matter the most.

Drink up. Go for a walk. Take your meds. Journal. These are some of the things that help me when I’m down. These are also the behaviours I resist. Depression loves a good wallow. I spent years not doing recommended things because I was determined that they wouldn’t work. What did my therapists know?

Sheepish is also not my favourite look. In fact, one of the ways I can tell depression is on the rise is a drop off in journalling. The collapse of good behaviours is as predictable as the seasonal arrival.

What are the healthy habits you abandon when you need them most? We should really stop doing that.

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If you or someone you know is struggling with depression, please reach out and speak up. Silence is the enemy. Depression likes to keep us isolated; frustrate it and get help before things turn dire.

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[i] I taught my kids that hate is a strong word and that one should be careful using it. You don’t hate your math teacher; you’re just pissed off. My feelings about October are more of a causal revulsion, but that doesn’t punch well from the page.

[ii] I was today years old when I learned the plural of amygdala is “amygdalae,” not “amygdalas.”

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