Gray

Winter is sneaking up on me. I can feel it already in the dark mornings and cloudy skies. I love fall. I love the crackle of the fallen leaves under my feet. I love the way the trees look when they are naked and exposed. I love the smell of wood burning in the fireplace. But, I'm beginning to admit that the shorter days of fall are hard on me. I've begun to equate summer and warmth with my happiness and winter's cold with my own darkness.

I've never been officially diagnosed with depression but I see it in myself. I am following in the footsteps of my mother and my grandmother and my great-grandmother. Women who get anxious and restless and tired of life. Women who carry on anyway.

It's easy to give advice...go outside, get moving, find friends, do stuff. I tell myself those things every day but I can't MAKE myself listen. There is only the weight of responsibility bearing down on me. Making me go through the motions. Making me wanting to scream with frustration or cry or disappear. My mom has recently been talking about leaving without warning for awhile. Taking off and going away without a word. She only told me so I don't worry. What I didn't say to her was that I'm jealous that she has that option.

The funny thing is that my life is good. I have a family that is better than anything I could have ever dreamed of. My husband has a job that allows me to stay home with the kids. We have a warm home with food on the table. We laugh a lot. We are content. There is nothing more to ask for.

So, how do you say you're depressed? How do you explain this darkness to someone who doesn't even know if he believes that depression is a real thing? I've decided you don't. You just push through and hope it goes away. And it will. For me. At least for a little while...once summer comes back around.