I was thinking about what a friend said to me a long time ago, before children and before marriage. I told her I was depressed. Her answer: “What do you have to be depressed about?”

I can’t replicate her inflection, but it wasn’t a caring question, like asking someone what’s troubling me. It was more that since I had some things that she wanted and didn’t have, I had no right to be sad. It hurt, I remember that.

It could be that the word depression is overused, and people use it as a synonym for sad. It’s normal to be sad when something bad happens, when crappy circumstances visit us. Depression on the other hand is when you feel sad even when things appear to be going well. I think I tried to tell her that. Being sad when you have nothing to be sad about is a hallmark of depression.

I hate reading about depression, especially the names people give it, like it was a pet that sits beside you on the bed while you read. The noonday demon, the black dog, big sad and all that. It’s not a companion. It’s an action, ripping and tearing inside and then it leaves you numb.

Reading about depression is boring, and I’m glad no one is reading this because you would be bored, too.

I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t depressed. Not to go into details, but I have a pretty high ACEs score. Lots of struggles and pain before I finally got into therapy and started antidepressants. I’m evangelical about both, and I highly recommend them.

Anyway, today is the day after Labor Day. The end of summer is sad, and along with my regular depression, I also have Seasonal Affective Disorder, which of course is called SAD. Yes, I do have a SAD lamp, and it will be time soon to get it out from under my desk and use it.

It’s definitely getting worse as I age. If you saw me, you’d say I should avoid the sun, not seek it. My ancestors clearly spent a lot of time in a cold, cloudy place. But during winter, when the sun sets at 5 p.m. and I’m ready for bed at 8 p.m., all I want is the light.

I logged on a month ago or so to post my ode to July, the apex of summer, the month of months, time of lions, sun, and birthdays (mine).

However, I didn’t finish it, so here I am, in late August, listening to crickets and cicadas and whatever else chirps on the night in my neck of the woods. 

I write posts all the time, you know, in my head. Coming to the computer intending to write is hard for me. 

Despite the fact that it’s my son’s birth month, August is a sad month. All I see are signs that the season is dying, will die, and the light is already fading. I’ve turned back my porch light timer from 8:30 p.m. to 8 p.m., reminding me that too soon, I’ll be adjusting it again, and again, and again until I get to 5 p.m. 

I do like fall — leaves changing colors, pumpkins on porches and in store windows. I like Halloween, too, and the witchy vibes. And I love Christmas. But cold and dark, I could do without.

I spend a surprising amount of time considering the seasons and their changes. Not much I can do about blocking winter darkness, but I still ponder. 

My attention is waning (a product of undiagnosed ADHD and a cellphone/scrolling problem) so I’m going to end this here.