LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
Weekend Beach Bum: - SAD: Anything but Funny |
by Eric Morrison |
About this time of year, people begin complaining about the change in time, the early sunset, the plummeting temperatures, and joking around about "the winter doldrums." But for millions of Americans who suffer from SAD (seasonal affective disorder), the imminent winter season is anything but funny. For many Americans, the winter months are literally depressingsometimes even debilitating. Symptoms of SAD include fatigue, inability to concentrate, insomnia or hypersomnia, depressed mood, irritability, anxiety, personality changes, and severe changes in appetite. Most everyone laments shorter days and frosty mornings, but for SAD sufferers, this is serious business. Because we all experience some degree of physiological and psychological changes during the winter, diagnosing SAD is not always an easy task for mental health professionals. Therefore, it is unknown exactly how many Americans exhibit true SAD. Generally, psychologists and psychiatrists agree that when the winter doldrums begin to affect your ability to function on a daily basis, you are a good candidate for a SAD diagnosis. Treatments for SAD have become more prominent in the last few years as the disorder receives increased media attention and more people receive diagnosis. Standard therapies include psychotherapy, antidepressants, special lights, exercise, and vitamins. As with any psychological disorder, your best bet is a combination of a number of therapiesa unique recipe for winter survival built for unique you. Light boxes continue to increase in popularity. Although their cost can be prohibitive, light boxes may be more affordable and require much less exposure time than you think. In fact, several websites suggest that you can make them yourself after an ATM withdrawal of about sixty bucks and a trip to Home Depot. It doesn't take a rocket scientist or even a psychologist to informally diagnose you with SAD. If every year when Jack Frost visits you can barely pry your tight fingers from the covers in the morning, you find yourself biting off your co-workers' heads for lunch, or you literally cannot stop crying when you gaze out at the stunning 4:30 sunset, you probably have some degree of SAD. Of course, if you have such symptoms year-round and not just in the winter, you may suffer from depression or some other mood disorder. Get thee to a mental health expert for a professional diagnosis and a treatment plan. Unfortunately, SAD walks hand-in-hand through the valley of shadows with another furtive foe of modern manshame. In today's cynical, sardonic society, we don't believe in anything until we hear about it on Oprah. People with all kinds of psychological problems, from Julie Andrews' nervous breakdown to Margot Kidder's bipolar disorder, are throwing off the shackles of shame regarding their psychological problems, as well they should. No one knows specifically what causes psychological disorders, but experts agree they are most likely due to a combination of brain function, genetics, personality, and coping skills. SAD is a real problem, and real people suffer from it. That's all we really need to know. On a more personal note, since I have come out of the literary closet regarding my disdain for religion, my vegetarianism, and my gayness, I'll open one more door. I have suffered with SAD ever since I can remember. And, to be frank, it sucks. I was officially diagnosed with severe SAD in college, but it never impacted my life much until a couple of years ago. During the winters of high school and college, when I became nearly suicidal and burst into tears at Droopy Dog cartoons, I could skip class and sleep. Waiting tables and managing retail stores during my first few years out of college, my work hours were flexible and inconsistent, allowing me to languish in my symptoms. Now that I have a responsible and fulfilling career in education, I no longer have that option. To make a long story short, a couple of Januarys ago, I slightly lost my marbles and feigned some ridiculous sickness to avoid work for two days. How do you tell your boss, "I couldn't stop crying in the shower, much less raise my arms to wash my hair?!?" My employer saw right through the transparent faade and, for the first time, I had to confess my SAD tendencies to someone other than a therapist. It actually felt wonderful. Now I no longer feel the need to hide my SAD, and my friends have rallied around with support, sympathy, and kindness, even when I bite their heads off or cry at the Cartoon Network. As you can probably surmise, I try to keep a sense of humor about my SAD. Don't get me wrongthe last thing I feel like doing in January and February, when the nasty SAD monster has practically wrestled my spirit to the ground, is letting out a deep belly laugh. But laughter and humor are powerful, natural medicines, much more comforting than any shrink's couch and with far fewer side effects than Paxil or Prozac. At least I can still achieve erection when I swallow a dose of humor. Also, at this time of year, I'm preparing myself for the tough times ahead by acknowledging that those times will come, and bolstering my ego with schizophrenic pep talks. Otherwise, I'm dealing with my SAD as best I know how. I read and research. I surround myself with friends who understand, many of whom suffer with SAD to some degree. I've rejected antidepressants for now: just in my own personal experience, Prozac equals punchy and Zoloft equals zombie. Regular exercise boosts my mood remarkably, and I don't push myself too hard on a daily basis. If I need to sleep, I sleep. If I want to inhale a seven-course meal for two, I gorge myself on vegetables and soy burgers. If I feel the need to "nest," I buy a new houseplant. I try to listen to my body and accept that SAD is a part of my life. And I have, proverbial tongue firmly planted in cheek, established a personal, annual Fall Apart holiday in January. This year, it may last one day or two, or it may not come at all. (Just maybe?) Most importantly, I have accepted my SAD and I don't feel guilty or shamed about it. I sure as hell didn't ask for it. In a recent interview, Margot Kidder admitted that her bipolar disorder started to become manageable the day she accepted it as an innate, unalterable part of herself. In an odd way, embracing my SAD has made me happier. Eric lives in Wilmington. He'll be even SADder than usual this winter, since this is his last Letters column for the 2000-2001 season. Send him a basket of flowers this January, or at least an e-mail card. Eric can be reached at eric.a.morrison@verizon.net. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 11, No. 15, November 21, 2001. |