Don’t Be SAD

Moods.  Often changing depending on seasons.  Sunlight.  Darkness.  Morning.  Evening.  I’ve noticed this lately.  Intuition signals sweat to form tiny beads on the back of my neck.  Little hairs begin to prickle.  I see changes in actions while hearing words with tones sounding different than only a few months before……

Seasonal Affective Disorder.  It’s real.  A Chronic Condition that affects more people than I ever imagined.  It’s a true form of depression many haven’t heard of or even know exist.  Once simply called the Winter Blues, it’s probably been around since the beginning of time.  Like a broken arm, migraines or the flu.

Approximately fifty years ago, a proper diagnosis was made and a name given to a form of depression that seemed to be triggered by specific seasons of the year.  More woman are affected than men who live in states or countries that have less light.  Yes, people feel blue, but it is more than that.  They are truly SAD.

Most who suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder notice a curtain closing upon their mood during the darkening days of fall, not lifting until the lighter days of spring.   Still others notice changes in their mood during the fresh scent of spring, lasting through the end of summer’s sun.

SAD is real and it does exist!  If you don’t suffer from it, I guarantee that someone you greet on the street, bump in shop, or pass at work probably does.  They may be good at hiding it, or worse yet, do not even realize they are living with it.  How SAD is that???

Please support me today by being a good friend tomorrow.  Hold a hand and spread my words to help others understand that Seasonal Effective Disorder is a true condition that can be treated.  There is no shame in being depressed.  Education is the key.  Talk about it.

Only a physician can properly diagnose someone with Seasonal Affective Disorder.  If you or someone you know is feeling depressed over a period of time without feeling better, seek treatment.

Some Symptoms of Winter SAD



*Feeling tired or having low energy

*Hypersensitivity to rejection

*Problems getting along with others



*Increased appetite/Craving carbohydrates or foods high in fat or sugar

*Wanting or needing excess sleep

*Decreased sex drive

*Weight gain

*Increased alcohol consumption

*Difficulty in concentration


Spring and Summer SAD



*Weight Loss



  • Talk therapy
  • Light therapy
  • Proper Diet
  • Exercise
  • Medication
  • A Combination of the Above

First of the Season

First of the Season.  A yellow rose.  My mother’s favorite.  Much like the single bud of a beautiful flower, my mother’s life was budding into motherhood when her fragile mind was struck by a chronic illness far too much for her to bare.

If you’ve been a faithful reader of mine then you already know.  Early on, I wrote a post touching on this,  Typically, there is a “trigger,” that breaks down one’s mind.  The person can handle no more.  “Enough,” it says.  “Please, I need a rest.”  Until the next, unless the mind is treated.  My mother was never treated.  She was never aware there was such a thing.  Truly, she believed they would take her away, never to be returned to her loving family.  How sad for her.  How sad for all of us.  Such a waste of much of my mother’s joy and happiness.

As a very little girl…..4-5-6 years old….was that when it first began?  My earliest memory of this is of my mother writhing in pain, begging my father not to call the doctor…or was it an ambulance?  He had one hand on the black phone with the curly cord.  “No,” she cried.  “I don’t want the ‘white coats’ to get me.”  Terrified, she was.  I have this picture of her grabbing hold of my father…his arm?  His leg?  Not letting go.  He was in pain, too.  At a loss with what to do.  Trying his best to comfort her.  I remember him sitting on a chair or the bed.  His head down defeated.  Dark, messy hair in big hands.

Many times, my father wondered what to do?  He was overwhelmed, yet strong, loving and true.  Such a young man when all of this began.  No education available back then.  He knew only that his loving young wife was sick.  He had a full-time job together with three young children…babies, to be responsible for.  “Bad Nerves”  was the term most often used for my mother’s condition back in the 1950’s.

People did not talk about mental illness years ago.  Even today, there is a major stigma attached to it.  Shhhhh…Mental illness is no different from my oldest son’s diabetes or my youngest son’s asthma.  If you need help, do not be afraid.  See a doctor.  Get therapy, take your medicine, seek treatment, or all of the above….please.  A sick mind is an illness not to be ashamed of.  It is no one’s fault.  Least of all yours.

Because education was little at best, and access to help was next to impossible, my mother suffered the whole of my life.  I don’t have any proof of her illness.  No doctor’s reports, no test results or hospital admissions.  Still, my memories and research are enough for me.  So many years of life she missed!  Days spent in bed behind a closed door or rocking back and forth swallowed within the safety of her favorite chair.

My siblings and I have gotten through life just fine. A few of us have stumbled here and there, but nothing like my mother went through. Of course, we were all educated and knew when to get help. Our mother taught us well. We learned from her, not necessarily from what she said, but in how she loved us in spite of her illness. She did her best and tried even better.  She loved us all,

Good memories outweigh any that may be discolored.  God has a way of doing that.  So glad….  In Heaven, He covers my mother’s forehead, quieting her mind.  No more anxiety, no more demons, no more suffering.

This single yellow rosebud is a reminder to me of my loving mother.  The first of the season….

Fresh With Morning Dew: 7:00 AM

photo 1 (30)

11:00 AM After Sunlight Shines Upon It

photo 3 (20)

Another View for My Mother….

photo 2 (30)

Help Is Needed

English: Christmas star Deutsch: WeihnachtssternI am torn today.  Torn at what to write about.  Mixing in my mind are cookie-dough thoughts to roll in bowls of sugar.  I’ll drop them one-by-one on baking sheets before sliding them into warm ovens where soon the buzzer will ring.  My words are done!   Delectable bites and delicious morsels will ever so gently be lifted to white paper towels for all to cool.  Soon they’ll pop up on the screen.

Occasionally, the recipe is not quite right.  I forgot to pinch the salt or add a dash of nutmeg.  Worse yet, I left out a whipped egg!  Even then, something on the screen will be seen whether it’s good or bad.  Today, I’m hesitant to type it there.  It’s Christmas time.  All things should be merry and gay.  That’s not what is on my mind today.


A Kidnapping Averted?

This morning, after writing about my mother and brother yesterday, I remembered an incident that happened even before my little brother’s surgery.  It was the summer of 1959.  I was three years old, making him barely two, still wearing diapers.  I can picture him, shirtless and barefoot, long before Pampers were invented.