This post is part of a series; start here if you want to read from the beginning.
I mentioned before that this time of year, during the darkest days of the year, I have a harder time managing my depression. Regardless of what Denis Leary has to say about it, not all of us are cured by going to a hockey game, or buying ice skates, or skis, or by shoveling a driveway, OK?
Part of the issue is the length of the day. Part of the issue is the overcast sky which means that although it is light out for a few hours, there is no sunshine. Part of the issue is that I already feel so crappy that I don't want to leave the house, or even my bed, enough to experience whatever daylight there may be.
By the way, the same is true of exercise. Yes, endorphins=fabulous, but it's getting to the point where you can DO it that's a problem. For me these things go together in a vicious circle. If it's crappy outside, I don't want to go for my walk. If I don't go for my walk, I don't feel good. Then even when it's not crappy, I don't want to go for my walk, because I don't feel good. My exercise- and cold-induced asthma doesn't help--getting rewarded for finally making an effort by being unable to breathe well is super frustrating and not at all motivating to do it again.
When I was first officially diagnosed with depression, it was the fall of 2001, about a month after our collective world came crashing down. I was living in Moorhead, MN, where the sun doesn't get above the treeline for several months of the year. I was a junior at Concordia College, living in an apartment in the German House. And I was failing some of my classes, mainly because I wasn't showing up. God bless my German professor, whose name escapes me at the moment (I've forgotten a LOT of what happened during that time, and I didn't particularly like this professor, but he is at least retired and might be dead now...he was really old then), who figured out that I needed to see a counselor right away and made me the appointment with the on-campus counseling center. They then referred me to a local doctor who could get me the diagnosis and some meds.
Thus began my treatment journey. Over the next several years I would see at least 3 different shrinks and was on several different medications, some of which helped, some of which didn't. I continued to fail academically and make poor decisions socially as my depression was not at all well controlled until I finally dropped out of school and moved back in with my parents at the age of 22, roughly three semesters after my initial diagnosis. This was also a move south and back to a less flat landscape. After 7 semesters, plenty of academic probation, and tens of thousands of dollars, I left Concordia with no degree. I learned many things, some of which I have forgotten, many of which I remember, but without the piece of paper, it's a huge waste of money. They should have kicked me out after the first two failing semesters, but because I made the dean's list in spring of 2000, they decided I still had the potential to get good grades and they could keep taking my (and my parents') money guilt-free. I still owe more than 10K in student loans, ten years later. Essentially, I threw away a good 2 years of my life.
Part 3 to arrive when I remember what my treatments were and how long it took to find a combination that worked well.
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