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A Brief Timelapse of Seasonal Depression

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A Brief Timelapse of Seasonal Depression

Maeve Friedman, Editor

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Summer Capsule– August 14. WHITE

What is this? That pokes at every nerve, glazes over my vision, leaves me staring out into nothing? Everything is white; birds fly halfway between the horizon and that open sky, that painfully bright blanket of nothing. The weather has always had its grip on me. I never quite understood how a white abyss, a rainstorm that persists, everything drenched and weighed down, (heavy) could not have the same effect on the impressionable hearts of those who look out at the rain and smile.

 

Winter Capsule– Date unknown. Untitled

The light dims and the wind howls, as it does this time of year. I can hear it loud and clear (almost a mockery) as the bitter cold bites at my ears. These days I walk with my head down, hoping if I walk fast enough I’ll find relief in a warmer place. I peer out of a room warmed by artificial temperature, confined between four walls as my eyes glaze over at the sight of a bleak, dreary sky. The leaves have shriveled and too often am I pessimistic, unfortunately, and everything is white, a faint grey. When it’s dark at four-thirty in the afternoon and rainy during the day, I wonder what made the past beautiful. Was it the bright sun through the window and the warmth of the air that held me, wherever I went? When eight o’ clock golden hour reminded me of the vast length of my days, staying up until the sun rose again. I felt it on my skin through the curtains. I couldn’t get enough of living. But how strong was the sun, and how much responsibility can I place upon the weather? When the air does not speak to me anymore, when it doesn’t hold me like it used to- these are the days I feared, when each step feels heavier and exhaustion weighs me down.

 

Reflection– February 3

I describe it as a numbness, a lack of stimulation despite my surroundings. Energy low, mind thinks slow. Perhaps its to do with one’s company. Feeling it the strongest when I can’t shake it, surrounded by people I love. Giving me love. Overpowered by that painfully bright blanket of nothing. Dreams of green and daylight at eight, birds singing their songs. The weather has always had its grip on me. The streets lie frozen with ice and I long for the sun. Its rejuvenating warmth, its healing power. To warm me up.

 

 

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About the Writer
Maeve Friedman, Editor

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I'm Maeve Friedman and I am a senior at SSFS. I serve as a Wildezine staff writer and pop culture editor. Language and creative writing have...

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A Brief Timelapse of Seasonal Depression