Tag: Seasonal Affective Disorder

Is Surviving A Testament Of Strength?

A Girl In A Complex World

I ventured outside today. Not because I wanted to though. The last thing I wanted to do was put a coat and boots on to go walk around in the snow. I went out because I needed to. I’ve barely moved from the couch in 3 days. This year is not off to a good start.



First, we had the first-ever earthquake here in Central Newfoundland. Very minor. But there has never been an earthquake here. Then we had a major 3-day storm. Our driveway was washed out and our roof had some damage. Thankfully it was minor. Then I ended up spending 9 hours in the ER, for dehydration.

Through all of that, I’ve been struggling just to keep breathing. CPTSD has been kicking my ass. Between the paralyzing panic attacks, nightmares, disordered eating (restricting, binging, purging), chronic pain, and insomnia every breath I take requires effort. Putting in effort takes energy, and energy is something I have very little of. Or maybe it’s just a lack of drive or willpower. Either way, I don’t have much of anything right now.



But today I managed to tap into something inside of me that gave me a little boost. I was wiping away tears as I was putting my boots on. The dogs were so excited to have mom play ball with them. They’ve really been feeling the effects of what I’m going through and that has created such a massive amount of guilt for me. I try and tell myself that I really am doing the best that I can right now but it feels so fake.

The fresh air was amazing though. The sound of the waves along the shore was incredibly comforting. I miss walking there with the dogs. Another reason I dislike winter so much. When I get cold it triggers my CRPS and sometimes I’m in pain for several days after. It’s frustrating. Especially when more than half of the year is cold here in Newfoundland. So outdoor activity is quite limited. It’s a big factor in the decline of my mental health once the fall months are upon us.

Today the cool air was welcomed. It wasn’t windy, which made it much more manageable. It was as if by breathing it in I was bringing back a little glimmer of life. It even energized me enough to later vacuum, sweep, and mop through the house.

It was discouraging though to find myself standing in the middle of the room, on 3 separate occasions, completely dissociated, and I had to check my phone to see what time it was. Everything has just been so surreal. Over the last year, 40 years of trauma decided to all come flooding back at once, at times leaving me completely incapacitated. It’s been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to go through. I’ve shed more tears these past few months than I have my entire life.

So yeah. It’s been tough. But I guess surviving all of this is a testament to my strength? Maybe. I dunno. But I do know that growth doesn’t always look like success. Sometimes growth involves holding on when everything just feels so damn heavy. At least for me, it does.

The old me would have given up long ago.

Saying Goodbye To Summer Is Making Me SAD

A Girl In A Complex World

Oh boy. I’m really feeling the effects of the seasons changing this year. It’s like the end of summer has brought about some sort of strange grieving process.

When the alarm on my phone starts calling me up in the morning I open my eyes and with disappointment I discover that there is no sunlight bouncing on the walls now. Daylight is only just beginning to brighten my room. Over the past few months though, I’ve been waking at this same time to fresh, natural light and through the open window I hear the birds singing their good morning songs for me. This morning I was greeted with a chill in the air, that sent a shiver from head to toe, and silence. It will be months and months before my bedroom is bright, and sunny, and … welcoming at 6:00am again.

Upon waking every morning this week, my heart rate picks up speed and nausea rises from my stomach, stopping near the back of my throat just short of overflowing it’s wretchedness into my mouth. Repeatedly I swallow in an attempt to push it back down but it refuses to fully recede. It lingers there well into the late morning, making it difficult to get my daily doses of prescription meds into my body without gagging.

This morning I switched on my therapy light lamp. Does it actually work the way it claims? I have no idea. But it can’t cause any harm. So I will continue to bring as much light to my surroundings as possible. Darkness is not my friend and as I make my way through the next weeks and months I know that there will be much more of it. One can’t fight darkness with darkness. Only light can do that. So whether it be therapy lights, candles, lamps, the fireplace, or strands of twinkling lights strung from corner to corner, I know I need to start fitting it in wherever I can.

I hate this overwhelming feeling of dread that is growing inside of me. Every day it seems to fill another crook or crevice, weighing me down just a little more than the day before. Thoughts fill my head, convincing me that I will not make it through another unbearably cold and nasty winter. That I don’t WANT to make it through … And as the day goes on things feel increasingly pointless and the desire to take an extended nap has become quite appealing.

Then evening comes. As it approaches it brings with it an almost unbearable heaviness in my chest and a sick, unsettled feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. The beautiful colors of the late evening sunsets brought such warmth and peace to my heart over the past months. But now, those same vibrant bursts of color stretching across the sky bring tension and panic to my nervous system. Tears burn my eyes as I reach to turn on the lights inside my house and I angrily brush them away. No!! Not this. Not now. There must be NO tears. My stomach twists, tightening every organ on its way up to my throat, threatening to bring vomit. I swallow, gag, and swallow some more, wishing everything that I’m feeling would just go back down to wherever the hell it came from.

And so it begins. I fear what the upcoming weeks and months have in store for me. For now, the only thing I can think to do is to pull on a hoodie, slip my feet into a pair of fuzzy socks, and give myself permission to feel hugged by their warmth. I will light a couple of candles, take a few slow deep breaths and curl up on the couch next to my husband and fur babies. And as I try to draw whatever comfort I can from their presence I will remind myself that in this moment I am OK. I won’t think about next week or next month or Halloween or Christmas. Because right now, none of that matters. This is the only moment that counts and in this very moment, I am OK.