I’ve decided that September is my least favorite month. It’s not the coldest or the longest, but in my experience, it’s the saddest. I had hopes for this September—not very high ones, I’ll admit, but I was still optimistic that it might be okay for once. After all, I’m home, comfortably enrolled in an online school, and have some exciting new projects I’m hard at work on. But recent events in my personal life have made “taking back September,” as my therapist so eloquently puts it, a difficult feat.
I’m currently writing this post in South Hampton. I’m in a beautiful place with nice people, working Wi-Fi, decent physical health, and plenty to look forward to, and I’m not having a good time. On the contrary, I can’t wait for vacation to end so I can go home. It’s thinking like that that makes me wonder: what’s wrong with me?
That, in of itself, is a loaded question. One important thing to note is that I have Seasonal Affective Disorder. I wrote a post on SAD ages ago (you can check it out here), but basically what it means is that my mood dips when the seasons change, the temperature drops, and there’s less sunlight. I have my lightbox and antidepressant, but neither is a cure-all. Acknowledging that I will feel sadder and more tired at this time of the year, that there’s nothing I can do about it, and, most importantly, that there’s nothing to feel guilty or ashamed of, is important for my wellbeing. I’m the type of person who always likes to be productive and will work myself to the point of exhaustion. I have to accept that because of my mental health, I won’t get as much done during the colder months, and that’s okay. I owe myself that much.
In addition to SAD, there are the bad memories of past Septembers: eighth grade, when I spiraled into my eating disorder; ninth grade, the first time I was admitted to the hospital; and, of course, last year: my epic college flop.
I don’t talk a lot about college because it was such a disaster. Having to medically withdraw—and after such a short period of time too—was a reminder that my eating disorder was still very active and could return to wreak havoc on my life at the slightest sign of weakness. Even though I was able to rebound and get my life together, the memories, especially at this time, exactly one year later, are still so present and upsetting.
Talking about them helps. Venting to my parents and my therapist, people who have been there for me when I was at my worst and who I know will listen to me without judgment or criticism, is good when I need to get something off my chest. Of course, writing helps a lot too. Maybe not on this blog—yet—but in the new stories, fact and fiction, I’m working diligently on.
So, will this be the year I reclaim September? I think not. The best that I can do, I’ve decided, is to simply get through it while trying to focus on the positives. Things like the online cookbook, Nourish, my mom and I recently launched, the abundance of pumpkin spice foods, the fact that one of my favorite TV shows cleaned up at the Emmys, the four-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle in my living room, my adorable therapy cat, Chibi, the upcoming release of my third book. I have a lot to feel good about it, and even if it doesn’t “fix” my depression or break this slump I’m in, it’s somewhere to start.