This morning I woke up feeling drained and without any care to even do the bare minimum—other than continue sleeping. I looked up at the dark ceiling begrudging adulthood and having consequential responsibilities.  My bladder was screaming and my belly was starting to ache from hunger. I needed to pee but if I got up, the world would demand more of me. I wouldn’t have gotten out of bed if I didn’t have the obligation, bound by none other than love, to take my dog out. I contemplated calling out sick, but I had done that the week before for the same exhaustive reason, and all I could imagine was the immense pile of work that was amassing. Beings relied on me to make the first step and get up on my own two feet, literally and figuratively. Plus, what would I do with my time, except let it slip by?

But something clicked this morning. It’s been weeks since I’ve been looping around a vicious cycle of bland desire and somewhere in the unvisited part of my mind a black hole was growing, devouring all of the color in my life. Why was I feeling this way and for how long have I been sitting in this emptiness and bottomless pit of nothingness? I calculated the gloom settled in shortly after my return from sunny Rio de Janeiro, but if my memory does me justice, this has been happening for months now, perhaps years. A tugging thought resurfaced and I was reminded of my lower-than-average test results for vitamin D, noted in September.

Ah… it’s my vitamin D deficiency. Symptoms include:

• Fatigue (correction: IMMENSE fatigue, check.)
• Bone weakness.
• Muscle weakness, muscle aches, or muscle cramps (check)
• Mood changes, like depression (oh, that’s interesting. CHECK.)

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I know I have to do something to feel better, but it’s easier to do nothing and let the grayness slip into you and weigh you down. Outwardly my voice is monotonous, even if I smile inside, and most days I feel… nothing.

At some point the upper level of my brain where all the rational thinking occurs filters through the fog and reminds me that I’m deeply knowledgeable on this subject, having studied it and worked in the field. To get better, I must take the steps and give it time.

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There are two voices in my head: the kind one and the unkind one. The kind one is soothing and patient, bringing me warm tea and asking me what I need. This voice comforts me by gently listening and reminding me to be kind to myself, above all.

The unkind one tells me to toughen up and pressures me to quickly figure it out, without the help of counseling or medicine. It says, “All the chemicals you need are inside your brain. Use them. Everyone else doesn’t get it and must deal with the mood swings.” It’s full of mental health stigmas and unconscious biases, no matter how proficient I am in psychology.

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I feel weak. Just a few months ago I was silently celebrating having stopped taking my SSRI’s because I was, “back to my old self.” Back to the Isa, I remember being a few years ago, bright-eyed and full of loud belly laughs. The kind voice reminds me mental health recovery is not linear, it takes time and what may seem like a setback is just a step in a different direction toward healing.

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Seeing other people helps a lot, for the brief couple of hours they’re near me. I’ve become a great listener because other people’s problems distract me momentarily. I can feel the mechanics of proper conversation etiquette clicking in my brain, telling me when it’s time to nod in agreement, gasp in surprise, or softly laugh at a light joke.

I always imagine those who meet me in the spring or summer get the best version of me.

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Apathy in, apathy out. It’s gray outside and all around me, even my innards have lost their color. I want to sleep, lie down, and stare out the window. No thoughts, just breathing. Yoga helps, a bit, but then what do I do next?

Every factor in my life has to be balanced just so, as to ensure a tinge of happiness. If I drop the ball on sleep, I’m grouchy. If I don’t move my body, I’m achy. If I don’t exercise my mind, I lose interest and begin attacking my self-esteem.

We truly are our worst enemies.

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A sunny day is all I ask for, but if the area I live in has seasons and months of opaqueness, the intermediary solution between winter and spring is… drum roll, please… I don’t know. Do you?