Photography has taught me to stay in the moment more than any book or child or guru or<insert Stay in the Moment thingy-ding>. Once I started to pay attention to my life, things unfolded in an easier and more beautiful manner. I started to notice details and stopped living in my head so much. One thing I began to pick up on is the Crap Ass Funk I got into every change from Winter to Spring.
Yep, Crap Ass Funks. Not Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), but CAF. I don’t need a lamp or pills, I just realize that for the last two weeks of February, I’m in a Crap Ass Funk. It just is what it is: crappy. It usually takes a couple days before I realize what hit me. And then I feel the hard smack of CAF. I know that I need to ride it out. Like a bear who hibernates during the winter, I hibernate for about two weeks. And then CAF slips away and the world is right again.
Mid-Febuary hit and I didn’t feel CAF-y. I knew it was time, but I wasn’t feeling it. And after this Winter, I should have been deep into my CAF. But I wasn’t. I got cocky. Maybe I licked it! Maybe I was CAF-free. I was going into an office. Seeing the same people everyday. That surely is better than being stuck in my house working alone for months. No more CAF for me!!
God, I’m a ridiculous little girl.
The office just starved off my CAF for a little longer. But when CAF hit, it hit hard. And I was unaware which makes any funk worse. I was confused and pissed. All I could do was work, stew on what I expected from a normal life (a.k.a. non-CAF life), relived conversations in my head, barely parented (I didn’t cook a meal for about two weeks, but I’d count heating from the freeze a meal. My husband doesn’t. We ate cereal and a lot of eggs; not prepared by me), housework fell until the weekend, I didn’t return phone calls, didn’t call friends and my creativity was in the crapper. Yep, I was in an awful and scary mood. When it finally dawned on me that it was simply a delayed and deeper CAF, I knew I could do nothing but wait.
And just like all my funks, it slowly disappeared without any warning. My seasonal CAF’s are never true depressions because they’re clockwork. Every year, my body says, “Slow down. Prep for the next season.” But they end like any bout of depression: without warning. They end like a gentle Mother who wakes her babies by slowly lifting the shade for the sun. She quietly enters the room and whispers, “Wake up, honey. The day is yours.” That’s how my depression always ends. Never like the loud Mom who’s heavy footsteps breaks the silence before she barges into the room singing/screaming “WAKE UP, Sleepy Head!”
Depression slowly lifts for me.