Seasonal affective disorder (SAD) is episodes of depression that occur at a certain time of the year, usually during winter.
Goth Seasonal Affective Disorder (GSAD) episodes usually occur during summer.
In winter, the world falls into a kind of sleep, putting so much energy into keeping warm that projects and to-do lists get put on hold until spring. The world gets distracted by snow days, holidays, and the promise of lying in bed drinking cocoa. Nobody wants to leave the bed. Hell, if you accomplish ANYTHING, you’ve done a lot more than everybody else.
For me, it’s like cold wind hits my face and everything in me says, “yes, let’s do this. Let’s put on boots and run around in the cold. Let’s run around in the fall leaves like dumbass pixies. Let’s collect the gold and red leaves and tell ourselves that we’ll iron them between sheets of wax paper, even though we know we won’t. Let’s leave the house without sunblock. Let’s sit out back and drink tea.”
August is like torture.
Fall sits there, right on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach. You want the tea, the leaves, the boots, the jackets, and they sit behind a glass wall, waiting just beyond the back to school merchandise.
Instead of fall, what we get in August is more endless death heat. More sunglasses, more sunblock, more butt sweat, more places with insufficient air conditioning, more allergies, more lawn mowing, more car seats searing our flesh. Any fascination the warmth may have had back in May (“let’s say ‘fuck it’ and have a picnic!”) is gone. Long gone and dead, roasted to a shriveled crisp on concrete that would cook your feet like bacon.
No one else understands. They sit there with their tans, tube dresses and umbrella drinks and say “but it’s so nice and SUNNY out. Doesn’t it make you want to DO things?”
No. It makes me want to hide in my house and hold as still as possible to avoid sweating. It makes me want to slather myself in spf 100. It makes me want to stab you and then go hide in an underground bunker until October. Until the endless cross country death march of summer. Thanks for asking, though.
All any of us can think about is Halloween, the feel of velvet and the smell of crisp air laced with the smell of leaves. Cinnamon. Knee boots. Crinolines. Driving around on cold, cloudy days listening to Nick Cave. Coats that swish in the wind. Candles. Blankets. Wearing fingerless gloves as I work outside at some coffee shop, warming my fingers on my tea.
It’s all right there, behind the glass. Beyond the back to school stuff. We just have to wait for it.
It’s coming, you guys.