Daylight (A Personal Note on Winter)

I am multiply disabled. I’m even disabled neurologically in more than one way. I am an Autistic with anxiety and depression, cataplexy (possibly narcolepsy going by family history), learning disabilities, and a tendency toward agoraphobic episodes. For some reason, those interact to my least benefit during the winter months.

First, I become anxious and distracted. My anxiety starts making acting on my knowledge instead of my anxiety difficult in November. I begin to worry about things that I am otherwise never in doubt of. I try to fight my anxiety, but this sometimes means I say or do things that make people feel blamed or sad. But I don’t have a strong enough filter at this point to turn it off.

By the end of December I’m depressed, isolated, and feeling as though I am not doing well at non-“work” related interactions. Sometimes circumstances make this more intense. I have family members who too often do things that will set off some of my trauma related issues, leading to ongoing tensions and misunderstandings.

I also come from a family with multiple faith traditions– most of my extended family are Christian, and some of a more conservative sort of Christianity that has essential conflicts with my beliefs. Accordingly, I have received gifts ranging from christian themed chocolate (which as much as I question why a devote christian would be cool with eating chocolate Jesus, I deal with because a) chocolate and b) They usually go to support their churches charitable works) to inspirational novels about a “lost” woman coming to christianity via a man– something that becomes a bit offensive when you realize that they all know I’m not remotely Christian and in fact follow Judaism. Additionally, that side of the family’s Family Dinners tend to be very pork centric, and I end up eating potatoes, rolls and sometimes salad if my mother made it.

I don’t really have access to my own faith community due to our location, which makes a lot of these little things less easy to put up with. It is indeed harder to deal with microaggressions when it’s difficult to find others. Indeed, the things that don’t bother my friends so much in areas with substantial Jewish communities are harder here where there isn’t a community to fall back on.

January, I reach the point where I feel incompetent. I don’t follow through with the things I need to do to maintain my personal relationships, interacting primarily in indirect ways, avoiding direct personal interaction. My interactions are instead primarily related to the efforts I maintain in advocacy or other work interactions. I feel apathetic about most personal things on an emotional level at this point- nothing seems particularly appealing to an extreme amount. I force myself to leave the house every few days, because otherwise I’ll need someone else’s physical presence to leave. It becomes an overwhelming thing to leave home, more so than any other episodes of agoraphobia I have throughout the year, easier to rationalize with the weather though it might be.

By February, without my consent, I find myself angry at myself. I know that these patterns are a function of my anxiety and depression meeting up with the decrease in available sunlight, but I still feel upset. Frustrated that this year I couldn’t prevent it. Especially as I begin to notice the way people are to it everything that has happened. I’ve lost friends from it in the past, had them assume that my going without directly personally interacting for a while was about me being upset with them. (This is according to what they’ve told me.) It’s more than my periods of not knowing when  to contact people or where I stand are. This is more.

I know this is hard. It is a hardness I both feel and hear from others. I know that I am not an easy friend. I know that this is a convergence of the least beneficial parts of me. But that they are parts of me, parts that at other times come together in other ways under different lights.

This is a personal note. A request to those who know me personally to grant me patience in the winter. To know it’s not about our relationships, but about my brain chemistry, unsure how to adapt quickly enough.

To have faith that the world will turn, the tilt shifting, and that spring- and daylight- will come again.