I had to make it through some seasonal depression to write about it. As the last leaves fell from the trees I knew it was coming. By the first snows I started to slow down and avoid people. I put a few positive reminders on my calendar, reminding myself to stay positive and treat myself a little better. I started telling my friends stay warm and it became a code to remind us winter was coming. We would discuss ways to raise our spirits. I had one friend suggest tanning beds and sun lamps. I planned to get into holiday events. I volunteered to help a toy drive for a children’s hospital and signed up to help cook and serve a meal for a local rehab. Good intentions. And then it hit me.

SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder, is associated with seasonal changes. Most people get it in winter. It affects sleep, appetite and social interaction. It makes you want to stay in bed and binge eat, most sufferers crave cabs in particular. For many people it’s just another weight to pile on their burden of problems. You know this thing is coming, but you can’t do anything about it.

It really hit me on Thanksgiving Day. I had planned on staying home and getting some work done. I didn’t make much of an effort to get invited to dinners and parties. It just didn’t matter too much at the time. I had a whole day of homework and writing planned out, but all I did was stare at my notebook and pecked at the keyboard. Once I was in full-blown sulk, there were lots of things I could do, but nothing I wanted to do. Working out, taking a hot shower, going for a walk, it all seemed like a waste of time. I played everything forward in my mind and it all ended the same way, with me being alone in my room. It was like I decided to feel bad and nothing was going to change my mind.

But then some friends called asking where I was. I had made plans with them to meet up but I had assumed it was happening on Friday, since everyone would be at family dinners for Thanksgiving. I wanted to refuse but my friends were on their way. When we got to the restaurant I sat at a table full of people laughing and enjoying themselves. These people had chosen each other’s company and they wanted to share this with me. But I could not uncoil from the knot I’d gotten myself into. Finally my friends insisted I have something and I admitted how good it was almost grudgingly. Music and company and good food had a warming effect on me and soon I got caught up in conversation. I even laughed a little. Before long, it was hard to admit I had been in such a bad mood at all. I looked back on the way I’d acted as rude. Maybe my friends blamed themselves for my quiet gloominess. Or maybe they felt sorry for me.

Either way, I hadn’t been good company. I just wanted to retreat back to my cave, but as we gathered in front of the restaurant there was talk of going back to someone’s house to hang out. No way was my depression going to let me do that. But someone looked right into my eyes and said, “You should come with us.” I felt understood. So I got into a car and rode along, dragging my feet up to a cheerfully lit house. We got comfortable and I busied myself with building a nice warm fire. Sitting and looking into the flames, I realized there was something at work in me. Some medicine was kicking in just a little slower than I wanted it to. There was nothing wrong with me, the feelings I was having were not the end of the world. The good things in life wouldn’t keep passing me by, but I might have to make more effort in opening up to them.

And then Christmas came. I felt like I was the only one without a family party to go to. Some people acted like spending time with family was a chore, but I could tell they had a nice warm glow from it. But I hadn’t had that, just getting through the day was rough. I felt isolated, and came up with many reasons why I wasn’t good enough. I called some close friends and said, “This is going to be rough for me, so please call or something to make sure I’m alright.” But one person did. Rather than get resentful about the lack of attention, I became the one to reach out to people. The night before Christmas, I attended a marathon NA meeting. We would hold a meeting, then sit right back down and have another one. I went to nine meetings in twenty-four hours. I saw people I’ve gotten to know over the years and heard people speak. I even shared some of what I was going through. And by and by, another holiday ended. Now I’m looking out over the yard covered in snow, thinking I’ve endured something. And I’ve found a way through. Not an end of the loneliness, but I’ve got some harmony. And that’s enough for now.

AUTHOR BIO: 

Robert Wilson is a short story author, novelist and award-winning poet from Albuquerque. His publication credits include contributions to the book, “Disrupting the School-to-Prison Pipeline,” published by the Harvard Educational Review, and As/Us literary journal’s Decolonial Love issue. He is the author of the “Black Light District” series of postmodern crime novels. Having received his high school diploma while incarcerated in 2013, he is dedicated to bringing writing workshops into correctional facilities, volunteering for UNM Writers in the Community, JustWrite, and the Gordon Bernell Charter School.

You can visit him at: www.facebook.com/pages/Robert-J-Wilson/360021757483448