A Happy Light just isn’t enough

Opinion

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 28/01/2015 (3374 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

I was out for dinner with one of my girlfriends last month, one of those long, leisurely affairs during which everything and anything was discussed. “So, depression,” I said, changing topics. “I think I have it?”

I don’t tend to uptalk; I meant it as a serious question. I don’t know if I’m depressed, but lately I’ve been feeling very down. Like all good hypochondriacs, I’ve consulted Google. I have some of the symptoms, but not all of them. I feel disconnected, tired and unmotivated. I’ve gone from having too many feelings to having very few feelings at all. I’ve reached the pinnacle of IDGAF. As Livia Soprano once said to her young TV grandson of life, “It’s all a big nothing.” A fictional crime-family matriarch, speaking my truth.

What I do know is this: For the last several winters, I’ve had bad winter blues. At first I ignored that, too; after all, what is winter blues and what is, you know, January in Winnipeg — especially last January in Winnipeg? And how do you know when winter blues have slid into something more serious, such as seasonal affective disorder or a major depression?

The textbook definition: Seasonal affective disorder is a type of major depression that comes and goes dependent on the season. About two to six per cent of Canadians experience SAD, while 15 per cent experience “winter blues” — which is often billed as SAD’s “milder cousin.” Major depressions aren’t bound by season, those rascals.

According to WebMD — which I have bookmarked, natch — whether you’re suffering from SAD or mild winter depression, the root cause is the same: lack of sunlight. That lack of sunlight causes your brain to overproduce melatonin, the hormone that regulates your body clock and sleep patterns, but has also been linked to depression.

This winter has been especially rough where light is concerned; while our Prairie town normally basks in sunlight all year long, this year has been unusually greige, a trade-off for warmer temperatures. If you work indoors, you may not see what’s passing for daylight these days at all. My gym’s windows usually offer a lovely panoramic of the Exchange District; now, it’s just an inky black void in which you can see your pallid reflection. That’s me in the corner, sadly lifting weights.

A few weeks later, I received a text from my friend: “There are sun lamps on sale at Costco. Do you want me to get one for you?”

I’ve heard many good things about light therapy, administered via artificial sun boxes that mimic the sun’s rays (minus the UV). Several acquaintances swear by it. Sure, why not? I’ll try most things once.

When I received my Happy Light, I was skeptical. Happy Light pledged to fight fatigue and help restore focus and concentration — naturally! On the box is a photo of a very happy stock-photography woman dressed in white, standing on a beach, arms outstretched skyward. I eyed her suspiciously.

You are supposed to beam your Happy Light into your face every each morning for 30 minutes. I have spent some time with with my Happy Light, and I can say that it’s helping. But before I can really use this potentially useful tool, I know I really need to talk to someone.

I haven’t seen anyone about this — nor have I seen anyone about the anxiety that hums in my brain, manifesting as ugly self-talk or incessant worrying. (I playfully dismiss this as “being neurotic,” forgetting that once, at age eight or so, I gave myself a panic attack after watching a health segment about panic attacks.)

If I’m being honest, it’s because I don’t know how to go about this. I’m afraid. I realize I’ve internalized so many pernicious and persistent myths about anxiety/depression that have prevented me from getting the help I need. For too long, I bought into the damaging idea anxiety/depression was a sign of weakness and “happiness is a choice,” as though one can bootstrap their way to mental health. For a long time, it was more important to me to be seen as someone who “has it together;” admitting I was struggling would mean admitting there are cracks in the veneer. Another excuse? That I “don’t have time” to dedicate to therapy or figuring out what kind of pharma cocktail I should be on, if any.

Like many Canadians, I don’t prioritize my mental health the same way I prioritize my physical health. For many more Canadians, adequate mental-health care is out of reach. Wait lists are long; therapy and treatment can be prohibitively expensive if you don’t have coverage. And too many people suffer in silence. We need to keep talking about mental illness — and that conversation needs to happen more than one day, once a year, without the assistance of an icky corporate hashtag — if we’re ever going to dismantle the stigma surrounding mental illness.

Because talking about it helps. Thanks for listening.

jen.zoratti@freepress.mb.ca