My SAD Relationship with Old Man Winter

Good morning, Monday.

I, like so many others, suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder or SAD (which is probably the best name for a depressive disorder ever). It's essentially your body freaking the fuck out because the days are so short and you're not getting enough sunlight. Anyone that sees me in the summer sees a lovely, confident, cheerful, and sociable Sara. I go to all kinds of events and parties, and I'm fun. I make new friends, I flirt, I dance, I have boundless amounts of energy. Not many people see me in the winter. It starts in October, when the light/dark ratio goes below 50%. I notice myself getting tired, snappy and easily overwhelmed. The layers upon layers of clothing I now have to wear pull on my muscles that are sore for NO reason, squish my newly acquired pounds of winter fat and make me miserable every time I have to go outside.  I bail on plans, and not because I have something else I would rather do, but because I don't think anyone would like me like this. I don't. I'm tired, whiny, easily offended and just SO FUCKING SAD.

I had my first full breakdown when I was 13. I'd been grounded for a long time, no phone, no friends, no television, no leaving the house. School was out for the holidays. I felt very alone, and I hated my home. My stepdad was a tyrant, and my mom was a pushover. My brother was staying with my dad for Christmas, and I hadn't wanted to go. I cried all the time. I screamed, I punched things, threw things. I was a brand new teenager with hormones to spare and a depression I didn't understand. I remember writing "I hate myself" all over my body in red sharpie. (Oxy pads get that shit right off, btw). I remember fighting with my stepdad, screaming that I hated him, that I didn't want to live there anymore, and him opening the door and telling me to leave, then. Which I did. In socks and pajamas, I ran to my friend's house. In the snow. Through a trail and over a train trestle. (Which is a bridge made of train tracks for anyone unfamiliar). They tried to put me in a foster home after that. Which brought up a whole lot of pain that I wouldn't show, my mother was being forced to choose between her daughter and a man, and she was choosing a man. They wouldn't take me into foster care, of course. There were kids who had it way worse off than me. What finally caused me to fully crack was when my brother got home from my father's with a shiny new skateboard and some cash, and told me that I because I hadn't gone to spend Christmas with him, my dad had decided that I didn't get any presents. Stupid reason, really. But I snapped. Completely freaked out. Locked myself in the bathroom and threatened to kill myself if they didn't leave me alone, because I hated them all. Which is when my mother called the cops, and I got my very own police escort to the hospital to talk to a therapist, and court ordered therapy sessions every Thursday at school for three months.

In the ten years since, I've had some bad winters, and some worse winters. I've experimented with anti-depressants, and self medicating in healthy(exercise, tanning beds, vitamin D) and unhealthy (meaningless sex, drugs, cigarettes and alcohol) ways. I've had the best results this year with a combination of the two. Tanning beds, a healthy sex life, a good sativa during the day, a strong indica to help me sleep, and wine. I'm going to Cuba in two weeks, and having an end in sight, even if it's just for a week, is doing wonders. I also have an amazing partner who helps me see the light, or at the very least, makes my darkness more comfortable.

Me time (Why I Miss Having a Bathtub)

 I really enjoy time to myself. At least 5-6 hours a week, preferably an entire day. A couple of hours to write, read, or just watch an entire season of "How I Met Your Mother". Give myself some time to breathe, and think. Practice some Spanish or watch hentai and masturbate. Go shopping, or not change out of my pajamas all day. The point is not what I'm doing, but who I'm doing it for. Me time is the chance to get away from expectations, to really just do whatever I want. Today I just want to drink juice and finish my book. 

I really miss having a bathtub, though. At least once a week I would sit in a nice hot bath with my headphones on(Sigh No More by Mumford and Sons is my go-to album), smoke a joint and have a glass of wine. Or a bottle if the week had gone particularly awful. Me time just isn't the same without a bathtub. Especially when I'm really upset and want to cry in the bath. Crying in the bath is a lot more elegant than sitting on the floor of your stand up shower sobbing. You can't even eat chocolate in the shower. 

Daddy Issues

No one's seen you today. I wonder if you're dead. Sometimes I find myself wishing that you were. Then when people ask me about my father I can say "He died" and they can say "Oh, I'm sorry" and we can move on. I wouldn't have to explain, "Well, we're not very close. He's a manipulative abusive deadbeat alcoholic and occasional crack user".

 I wouldn't have to worry about my little sister. I remember finding out that you'd smoked crack in our apartment while she and I were asleep in the other room. I remember coming back a few days later to find you passed out on the floor, and her, naked and crying, begging you to get up. I think about the time you abandoned her for several days. When she was all of three years old. I'm sure you were just trying to teach her some valuable survival skills. Like not to trust or rely on you.

 I worry about my brothers, and your influence on and over them. I wonder what we'd be like if we had had a strong father figure. But we got you, and your enlightened teachings of drink, fight, yell, and be an everlasting victim.

Sometimes I wish that you were dead. Most of the time though, I just wish that you'd get better.

New Year, New Eating Disorder

So it's January 6th, and the "New Year, New Me" posts are about winding down now. I don't make New Years resolutions anymore. If I want to change something now, I just change it. Setting goals just because the last number of the date changed seems doomed to fail. Everyone's all, travel this, change that. And by February it's forgotten.(Maybe next year!) The number one NY resolution is to lose weight.

 I used to have an eating disorder. Not that our society calls it an eating disorder if you actually have some weight to lose. Fat girls are just "getting healthy". Even if it's in the unhealthiest way possible.
You know what the easiest way to lose weight is?

• Coffee(Hunger suppressant AND laxative)
• Diet Pills(More of the same^)
• Vitamins(Avoids unhealthy pallor and your body won't realize it's starving as quickly) 
• Cigarettes(Again, hunger suppressant)
• 2-3 litres of water(Drink whenever your stomach feels like it's eating itself) 
• Work out every day. Hard.
• Don't eat(Unless you feel like you're going to pass out, then have some celery, an egg or a bit of white rice)

Does that sound like "getting healthy" to you? Nope. But you will drop 20 lbs in less than a month. And when society, a BMI chart and a scale tells you that you're thirty pounds overweight, you have to hate your body and starve yourself. Even if you were actually pretty comfortable in your skin, even if you had no shortage of people wanting to get all up in that extra weight, even if you're already HEALTHY. "Don't you worry about your long term health?"

Fuck that, and fuck you.
I do worry about my long term health, and thanks to my lovely eating disorder that used to kick up every time I got to 180 lbs, my long term health is now in question. I have so many stomach problems. You just can't take tons of pills, not eat, and work out all the time. Your body will eventually rebel. So now I have a number of food sensitivities, and acid reflux. I can't take ANY pills without feeling queasy at best, curled up in agony at worst. So I try and eat well, and get enough exercise, only take medication that I need, go easy on caffeine, etc, etc.

But it still creeps in. I'll put on weight and think horrible things about myself, and about the way my body looks, and my brain will ominously whisper "We know how to deal with this, we've done it before"  And I know it would be so easy, what's a little excruciating pain when it comes to beauty and acceptance? But no, not anymore. Now, I just ask myself, "Hey, Sara. What are you doing that's making you feel less than super awesome and totally sexy?"  If I'm eating too many snacks, I eat fewer snacks. If I'm not getting enough exercise, I do some fucking exercise. If I'm not having enough orgasms, I masturbate more. (There is nothing better for your self esteem than orgasms, in my opinion. But using others to build up your self esteem is cruel and manipulative. So masturbation, not casual sex. Not that I'm against casual sex. I just don't support it for reasons other than sexual arousal and attraction.) If there are people around me that judge me by my weight? To the best of my ability, they're not around me anymore.

I'm working on loving myself, and not because it's a New Year. Because it's one year of many that I have left, and I want to love myself for all of them.