When my winter blues didn't go away after a few weeks and some hardcore liquid medicating, I did what any college student does when they sleep with someone and develop a weird, burning sensation on their genitals - I turned to the Internet to diagnose my condition.
My eyes scanned the computer screen, mulling over each and every symptom listed on WebMD.com:
Socially withdrawn. Hmmm ... not technically. I mean, I have no problem karaoking and throwing up gang signs while singing Get Low"" in a room full of strangers. But I checked it anyway; I wanted to get a good disease.
Pale skin. I guess, I wasn't aware this was a symptom of a debilitating disease. If it is, I'm sure to be dead soon.
Restlessness or irritability.
Definitely, last week I about punched the bitch at Copps when she charged me without scanning my savings cards. Skank.
Hunger. Hellz yeah.
Loss of interest in hobbies and pasttimes. Yeah, It's been too long since I last drove around and yelled ""buttsex!"" at unsuspecting people doing errands.
Dislikes change in daily routine. You best believe nothing can interfere with my TV-show regimen.
It was after I built a fort in my bedroom out of a patchwork of blankets to help me weather out winter that I sensed something was profoundly wrong with me. Sure, I've had the ""winter blues"" in seasons past, but this was different. I mean, I ate an entire pizza in my bed while sober.
I've never felt this crappy, especially for no apparent reason. Things in my life are looking up: I'm graduating in six months and entering a thriving job market. I'm in a loving healthy relationship with myself, and my diet consists of delicious frozen dinners.
Life really can't get better, can it?
After checking off my symptoms, a list of possible diseases, mutations and bullshit excuses appeared on my laptop screen, overwhelming me:
PMS, autism, asperger's syndrome, malnutrition, schizophrenia, excessive caffeine use, generalized anxiety disorder, sleep deprivation, anemia fibromyalgia, bulimia, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.
And then, my disease, SAD: Seasonal Affective Disorder, a form of seasonal depression, best treated with light box therapy. Since this self-diagnosis, I've been telling everyone I have this disorder as an excuse to do things I shouldn't and get out of things I don't want to do. ""Wow, did you eat my entire bag of chips and my salsa?"" Yes. Sorry. It's the SAD. ""Will you pay your portion of the electricity bill?"" No can do, I've got SAD, remember? ""Can you please shower? You're stinking up the house."" Well ... no. I'm too SAD.
Once my friends told me this practice was extremely annoying, I decided I needed to seek treatment. Since I couldn't afford to sit in front of an expensive light box and hope this will make it more likely that I'll wear jeans instead of sweats and start living a life, I decided to try something cheaper: art therapy, Christmas-style.
Feeling in the Christmas spirit, I loaded up on a plethora of art supplies - metallic paper, glitter, garland - and went to work. I found solace in making popcorn garland to drape on our homemade Christmas tree, complete with handmade ornaments created out of pictures of my friends. I actually had fun cutting up pieces of paper and making an old school chain to drape across our ceilings. I took pleasure in wrapping empty boxes of croutons and crackers to make it look like someone had been good this year. It certainly wasn't me.
Soon, my roommate and I transformed our apartment into a house that quite literally looks like a pack of elves ransacked it and vomited silver ,red and white all over the apartment.
Over ""All I Want for Christmas is You,"" a song I can in no way relate to, my roommate studied our apartment and made an astute observation:
""Dude, if I brought a guy home one night and he woke up and saw all of our decorations, he'd probably think he hooked up with an elf...""
""It seriously gives a whole new meaning to the term North Pole,"" I said, cheerful for the first time in days. I exploded into laughter, a hearty laugh.
To me, a good laugh can bring world peace, cure AIDS and legalize same-sex marriage. Although it didn't completely alter my generally bleak winter mood, the joke was a welcome distraction from my SAD, as I started to picture my roommate and me getting hit on by cute guys in Santa hats with big candy canes in their pants.
If you're depressed, don't contact Ashley. She has no expertise and knows only about depression via Lifetime movies. But e-mail her funny things at aaspencer@wisc.edu to cheer her up on a winter's day.
