I am, a self-diagnosed sufferer of seasonal depression.
Whether seasonal depression exists or if I have it, is definitely a decision made at your own discretion. However for the sake of this post, let us deem those questions irrelevant. According to what I know, seasonal depression is a type of situational depression that afflicts its victims during the winter months. On a biological level, it is apparently the body's reaction to a lack of exposure to sunlight and vitamin D. However, now that I live in the sunshine state, where the sun shines aplenty all year round, I wonder if my reaction is not due to the sun (or lack thereof) but to something else that occurs between January and April.
The phrase "seasonal depression" did not enter my vocabulary until I was twenty. This was in part because it was somewhat of a newly discovered condition at the time and also because I had never experienced changes in my demeanor during the winter before. The first year it struck, I figured it was due to my finally coming to terms with my father's death. It had happened three years prior but I had never really dealt with it myself. I was young and was the "strong" one. I don't think there is anything wrong with this and do not feel that it hurt me in any way. That was the way I dealt with the emotions (or lack of at the time) that came with losing a father.
As anyone with experience can tell you, your emotions will find you and you will need to deal with them, sooner or later. For me, it was later. The winter of 2004 to be exact. Looking back, the timing is strange to me. I had recently re-united with the love of my life and had begun taking classes again (after a semester off) that I was really enjoying. Some of my closest friends from high school, like myself, had diverted from the path's of higher education that they had chosen after graduation and had ended up back home. Honestly it was a fun winter. I remember doing well in my classes, having weekly bonfires with my friends and falling in love all over again with my now fiance. But I also remember waking up unable to get out of bed, using food for comfort which turned into weight gain, sobbing in the arms of my love and not understanding why I felt this way.
After finding me on the couch unable to stop crying for no apparent reason one day, my mother decided it was time to see the doctor. My sister had become very depressed after my father's death and had had success with medications the doctor had prescribed. I imagined my mom felt that maybe I was being affected in the same way. So I saw the doctor. She wasn't overly concerned and honestly neither was I. I was not suicidal and outside of missing a few classes and a few days of work, it wasn't interfering with my life in a way that was extraordinarily detrimental. But I was struggling and my doctor could see that. After assessing my condition, my doctor decided that I did not need prescription medication but would go a more natural route. Although at the time I was disappointed, now I'm very glad she reacted this way. My doctor never used the term 'seasonal depression.' But she was clear about the fact that I was not clinically depressed. She thought that the dreary conditions of winter could be part of the cause and sent me home with vitamins and told me to try to spend some time in the sun. It made sense, and I was glad that my condition was not of too much consequence and that it would probably pass. And it did. The snow melted, the semester ended and I felt better. And I thought it had been temporary.
The following two winters came and went and I was fine. Then came the winter I lived in a basement. Again, when I look back the timing is strange. I had recently joined a sorority at my university which had instantly given me a new group of friends. I was also part of other organizations on campus and doing very well in school. My then-boyfriend-now-fiance and I, although struggling with being somewhat long distance were doing well. This time, I fault that basement. I had planned on commuting to school that year seeing that the costs for on-campus housing were astronomical and to me not worth the price. However, my mother, being a mother could not bear the thought of her oldest daughter making the hour plus drive to and from school especially during the winter. I also was not really looking forward to it so I investigated other options. Luckily, a few weeks before school began in September, I found what I thought was the perfect solution. A teacher, who lived just ten minutes from the university was going through a divorce and needed someone to watch her two children in the morning. All that was really required was to get them up, ready and on the bus to school. In exchange a room would be provided. I thought this would end up like one of those movies about the nannies who become the big sister the children never had. What fun! Well as we all know, movies generally do not accurately reflect reality. The children were not terrible but not by any means delightful. I imagine this was due to the fact that their parents were divorcing and their father had run off to Maine, all while they were trying to pass the 2nd and 4th grades. The room I was given to live in was their basement. Prior to the estranged father/husband leaving the family, he had taken over this basement and essentially hidden out there until he had the courage and where with all to leave altogether. The children loitered in the doorway of my room the day I moved in and nervously watched as I began to change things and remove the remnants of their father's hiding place. I wanted to make it my own home away from home, the dorm room I couldn't afford. So I re-arranged. It was more homey, more inviting once I was done, however nothing could be done to change the fact that the only natural light that entered the room came from a tiny, probably 2 foot by 2 foot window high above my bed. The symptoms from three years before returned. I missed some classes but nothing that would cause anyone else to worry. But I knew those feelings, I had felt them before. But just as before, the snow melted, the semester ended and I felt better.
Unlike the first time, the symptoms returned year after year, but as they had before they passed with the coming of each spring. Then I spent my first winter in Florida. I had moved here the previous summer to pursue my Disney career. Mind you this time, when the symptoms came, their onset was much more understandable. I was working at a job I did not like, I had moved here for Disney and was not even working there. I had no friends and lived alone in a tiny garage that had been converted into a studio apartment by a family who barely spoke any English. My then-boyfriend-now-fiance had a job that caused him to work late nights that in turn caused us to have much less time to spend together. But as it always does (in New England anyway) the snow melted, and I felt better again. This time it was different. My life had actually changed for what seemed was the better. I felt back on track again and felt that no, this could not be seasonal depression this year. I lived in FLORIDA for crying out loud! No, that winter it was situational. And I entirely believed it. Until this winter. This background story, however lengthy (apologies to my readers), has finally brought me to the meaning of writing this post.
This winter, again, I find myself suffering from what I only assume (and honestly hope) is seasonal depression. But this time, it doesn't make any sense. I still live in Florida, where although it has been colder than usual, the sun has been shining ever so brightly. I share a house with five friends that has large windows allowing me to soak up that beautiful sunshine. I have a job that I like, working for the company I moved here for and I'm getting married in just five months. Then I ask, what is causing the feelings to return? When they first began, I ignored them thinking, "What is wrong with you? You have everything you been wanting for so long! Stop being ridiculous" Then I began to pay attention to them, wondering, "why have these feelings returned?" The logic alludes me. So I rationalize. I don't have any friends, but I do have fiance who loves me. I have a job I like, but I am so far down the totem pole and part of such a large group of employees that my contributions are essentially meaningless. I am easily replaced. The stress of planning a wedding is getting to me but, I'm getting MARRIED! This back and forth could go on for days. What then is the cause? Is it situational? Is it seasonal? Is it even possible to be affected by seasonal depression when the biological causes are not there? Is it something else? I can't figure it out.
However, I would bet money that the snow will melt in New England, this winter will end and I will feel better again. The true test will come when we change the calenders to 2011 and winter comes to Florida again. What will happen then? I can only wonder and wait.
Thanks for reading.
Saturday, March 6, 2010
The Dishwasher
I know its odd that a kitchen appliance would be of any true importance in a person's life, but as of late, I have found that the dishwasher and my interactions with it tell me a lot about myself.
As long as I can remember, my house always had a dishwasher in it. I learned to load and unload it at an early age and it was one of the chores that my sister and I would do. Although I was young, I remember pretty vividly actually, the day we had a new dishwasher installed in our kitchen. It was an exciting day, as my parents had become tired of washing dishes before putting them in the dishwasher since the one we had was not the best. The new dishwasher (which is still in use in my mother's kitchen) was a VERY expensive, Swedish import. Remember the TV commercial where the woman puts a dish with an entire cake in the dishwasher and the plate comes out perfectly clean? That is what this dishwasher was like and honestly still works as well to this day. Our family very much enjoyed putting dishes into the dishwasher without rinsing them at all and having them come out clean. So I learned to use the dishwasher in this way. When friends came over and wanted to help with the dishes, I'd have to explain to them that, "No, you don't have to rinse your dishes before you put them into the washer; we have an expensive, Swedish dishwasher that doesn't require that." How cool I thought that was. Apparently the fact that my dishwasher did not require your dishes to be rinsed made me better than you. How ridiculous. This did pose somewhat of a problem however as I got older and used other dishwashers. At friends houses, I would just put my dish directly into the dishwasher without rinsing, only to be looked at funny and then told that there was no way the dishes would come out clean unless I rinsed them first. Spoiled I was with our expensive, Swedish dishwasher. So that is my history with our dishwasher.
As I got older, I'd load and unload the dishwasher often. Although my parents never required us to do too many chores, I felt that this would help my mother out even in the smallest way. I never really took too much notice of the way I performed this chore. I just completed the task and that was that.
In college, I moved into an apartment that *gasp* did not have a dishwasher! What!? How ridiculous that in 2007, a home did not have a dishwasher. I'd soon find out that this was one of the many ways in which I was a very privileged child. I barely knew what to do with myself. I knew how to wash dishes the "old-fashioned" way as my family had upgraded beautiful All-Clad pots and pans when I was a teen that in no universe were allowed to be put into the dishwasher. But how inconvenient to have to wash everything! On top of that, I had a roommate who loved to cook but not to clean so our tiny sink would fill all too quickly with dirty dishes which I just despised.
I was so relieved when I graduated college and moved into an apartment with a dishwasher. I shared this apartment with four other girls who all kept very clean and we all did our part to handle the dishes. But now I am in a new situation, which has brought me to writing about my relationship with the dishwasher. Now, I'm always comparing the dishwashers I use and have had in the kitchens of the apartments I've lived in to the expensive, Swedish one in my mother's house. None ever compare. I'm not sure if that is true because I have built the one in my home up so much or they literally do not work as well. Either way, the dishwasher in the home I currently occupy is definitely the latter.
I live in a townhouse that is only a year and a half old but was clearly built as cheaply as possible and this includes the dishwasher that is installed in the kitchen. But the quality of the appliance is not what caused me to begin this post. I share the aforementioned townhouse with four other people. Three are male and one female. The female is not currently in the home, so I am the only girl with three boys. Although they are not the cleanest of men, they are not filthy either. Because there are so many of us sharing the space in the home, specifically the kitchen, everyone tries to keep things tidy and clean up after themselves. In addition, the three male roommates all know how to load, run and unload the dishwasher and all do perform the tasks. However, I clearly have some sort of affinity to organizing the dishes in said dishwasher to my liking.
Every single day, often more than once, I open the door and find the dishes are organized in some (to me) ridiculous manner. Bowls where plates should be, glasses teetering off one of the parts of the top rack meant to hold them up. How it makes me cringe! I spend at least ten minutes everyday arranging and re-arranging the dishes within the washer. I've also noticed that I will move all the dishes around to where I think they should be. Plates go in a certain area, bowls another and when a large pot or pan makes me change it up, I spend a good amount of time figuring out how to make it work within my pre-existing pattern. Is my way the most organized and efficient? I would answer yes but honestly, I don't know. It may be that I put them that way because I want them that way, not because it is uses less space. What's worse is that because this dishwasher is not of the highest quality, I will often end up sacrificing the cleanliness of the dishes in order to organize them my way. In other words, putting the dishes so close together or in ways that they just do not get as clean as they would, had they more space. It has even gone so far as my fiance literally taking dishes out of my hand and telling me to stop trying to re-arrange them and just run the washer. Or telling me to "just leave that one out and run it on the next load." LEAVE IT OUT!? Why on earth would I do that when I know I can manage to make it fit somewhere! Talk about being a control freak.
Now, when I began to notice myself rolling my eyes or becoming frustrated every time I opened that door, I wondered why? The dishes have made it into the dishwasher and are not in the sink. Everyone does help to start and empty the dishwasher. Why then, did I have a problem with how the dishes are organized within those racks? I've always been a person who liked things well organized. My mother has told me that even as a child, I always organized my toys and other things very meticulously. Although recent study has shown that to be a sign of autism or OCD, I just liked things a certain way. I have grown up to like organization but honestly I am not such a neat freak that its very obvious. In the same vein, I've found that I love puzzles and puzzle games like those played to waste time on the computer. Although, when learning I tend to do better with concepts that use the right side of the brain, when it comes to day to day life, I am definitely prone to use my left side, being more logical and sequential. So this begs the question, is my relationship with the dishwasher just exciting the part of me that likes puzzles or is it the part of me that wants to be in control of something? Honestly, I think its a little of both. Either way, its funny to me that the dishwasher, a kitchen appliance of all things would bring all of this out of me. It just goes to show you, its the little things that tell you the most about yourself.
Thanks for reading.
As long as I can remember, my house always had a dishwasher in it. I learned to load and unload it at an early age and it was one of the chores that my sister and I would do. Although I was young, I remember pretty vividly actually, the day we had a new dishwasher installed in our kitchen. It was an exciting day, as my parents had become tired of washing dishes before putting them in the dishwasher since the one we had was not the best. The new dishwasher (which is still in use in my mother's kitchen) was a VERY expensive, Swedish import. Remember the TV commercial where the woman puts a dish with an entire cake in the dishwasher and the plate comes out perfectly clean? That is what this dishwasher was like and honestly still works as well to this day. Our family very much enjoyed putting dishes into the dishwasher without rinsing them at all and having them come out clean. So I learned to use the dishwasher in this way. When friends came over and wanted to help with the dishes, I'd have to explain to them that, "No, you don't have to rinse your dishes before you put them into the washer; we have an expensive, Swedish dishwasher that doesn't require that." How cool I thought that was. Apparently the fact that my dishwasher did not require your dishes to be rinsed made me better than you. How ridiculous. This did pose somewhat of a problem however as I got older and used other dishwashers. At friends houses, I would just put my dish directly into the dishwasher without rinsing, only to be looked at funny and then told that there was no way the dishes would come out clean unless I rinsed them first. Spoiled I was with our expensive, Swedish dishwasher. So that is my history with our dishwasher.
As I got older, I'd load and unload the dishwasher often. Although my parents never required us to do too many chores, I felt that this would help my mother out even in the smallest way. I never really took too much notice of the way I performed this chore. I just completed the task and that was that.
In college, I moved into an apartment that *gasp* did not have a dishwasher! What!? How ridiculous that in 2007, a home did not have a dishwasher. I'd soon find out that this was one of the many ways in which I was a very privileged child. I barely knew what to do with myself. I knew how to wash dishes the "old-fashioned" way as my family had upgraded beautiful All-Clad pots and pans when I was a teen that in no universe were allowed to be put into the dishwasher. But how inconvenient to have to wash everything! On top of that, I had a roommate who loved to cook but not to clean so our tiny sink would fill all too quickly with dirty dishes which I just despised.
I was so relieved when I graduated college and moved into an apartment with a dishwasher. I shared this apartment with four other girls who all kept very clean and we all did our part to handle the dishes. But now I am in a new situation, which has brought me to writing about my relationship with the dishwasher. Now, I'm always comparing the dishwashers I use and have had in the kitchens of the apartments I've lived in to the expensive, Swedish one in my mother's house. None ever compare. I'm not sure if that is true because I have built the one in my home up so much or they literally do not work as well. Either way, the dishwasher in the home I currently occupy is definitely the latter.
I live in a townhouse that is only a year and a half old but was clearly built as cheaply as possible and this includes the dishwasher that is installed in the kitchen. But the quality of the appliance is not what caused me to begin this post. I share the aforementioned townhouse with four other people. Three are male and one female. The female is not currently in the home, so I am the only girl with three boys. Although they are not the cleanest of men, they are not filthy either. Because there are so many of us sharing the space in the home, specifically the kitchen, everyone tries to keep things tidy and clean up after themselves. In addition, the three male roommates all know how to load, run and unload the dishwasher and all do perform the tasks. However, I clearly have some sort of affinity to organizing the dishes in said dishwasher to my liking.
Every single day, often more than once, I open the door and find the dishes are organized in some (to me) ridiculous manner. Bowls where plates should be, glasses teetering off one of the parts of the top rack meant to hold them up. How it makes me cringe! I spend at least ten minutes everyday arranging and re-arranging the dishes within the washer. I've also noticed that I will move all the dishes around to where I think they should be. Plates go in a certain area, bowls another and when a large pot or pan makes me change it up, I spend a good amount of time figuring out how to make it work within my pre-existing pattern. Is my way the most organized and efficient? I would answer yes but honestly, I don't know. It may be that I put them that way because I want them that way, not because it is uses less space. What's worse is that because this dishwasher is not of the highest quality, I will often end up sacrificing the cleanliness of the dishes in order to organize them my way. In other words, putting the dishes so close together or in ways that they just do not get as clean as they would, had they more space. It has even gone so far as my fiance literally taking dishes out of my hand and telling me to stop trying to re-arrange them and just run the washer. Or telling me to "just leave that one out and run it on the next load." LEAVE IT OUT!? Why on earth would I do that when I know I can manage to make it fit somewhere! Talk about being a control freak.
Now, when I began to notice myself rolling my eyes or becoming frustrated every time I opened that door, I wondered why? The dishes have made it into the dishwasher and are not in the sink. Everyone does help to start and empty the dishwasher. Why then, did I have a problem with how the dishes are organized within those racks? I've always been a person who liked things well organized. My mother has told me that even as a child, I always organized my toys and other things very meticulously. Although recent study has shown that to be a sign of autism or OCD, I just liked things a certain way. I have grown up to like organization but honestly I am not such a neat freak that its very obvious. In the same vein, I've found that I love puzzles and puzzle games like those played to waste time on the computer. Although, when learning I tend to do better with concepts that use the right side of the brain, when it comes to day to day life, I am definitely prone to use my left side, being more logical and sequential. So this begs the question, is my relationship with the dishwasher just exciting the part of me that likes puzzles or is it the part of me that wants to be in control of something? Honestly, I think its a little of both. Either way, its funny to me that the dishwasher, a kitchen appliance of all things would bring all of this out of me. It just goes to show you, its the little things that tell you the most about yourself.
Thanks for reading.
Friday, March 5, 2010
First Post
Although new to blogging, I have been writing for a long time. In college, I discovered a true love for writing and thanks to professors who would accept nothing less than my best, I feel that I was able to begin developing my writing skills. Someday I'd like to enroll in a graduate level writing program but until my fiance is finished with school and I can talk him into believing that going back to school is really in every one's best interest, recreational writing will have to suffice.
Since my current occupation does not allow me much in terms of expressing my feelings (with words anyway), I've figured writing a blog might be the next best thing. I love reading the blogs of friends whom I am no longer able to see regularly so I thought maybe some of these friends would like to keep up with me as well. My feelings are always mixed on social networking so we'll see how this goes.
Thanks for reading.
"Around here, however, we don’t look backwards for very long. We keep moving forward, opening up new doors and doing new things because we're curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.”~Walt Disney
Since my current occupation does not allow me much in terms of expressing my feelings (with words anyway), I've figured writing a blog might be the next best thing. I love reading the blogs of friends whom I am no longer able to see regularly so I thought maybe some of these friends would like to keep up with me as well. My feelings are always mixed on social networking so we'll see how this goes.
Thanks for reading.
"Around here, however, we don’t look backwards for very long. We keep moving forward, opening up new doors and doing new things because we're curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.”~Walt Disney
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