Seasonal Depression

Is there a vitamin that can give me the sensation of rain. The equivalent of what vitamin D is for the sun. My seasonal depression seems to always point to the want that the weather is not gloomy or cold enough.

One of the best things that I’ve experienced in using modern-day technology is viewing the temperature of my Dyson Hot + Cool air purifier on an app, showing me how my humid dorm bedroom has remained at fucking 28 degrees over the last 2 days of heat. This teasing summer heat bringing a sweat that manages to creep up every shirt and down every leg just makes me feel oh so miserable. No human, not even any animal or insect should have to deal with the feelings of slowly being aware of the fact that your hair, skin, and outfit are slowly being worn down by the moisture generated by this season that is so lovingly equated as a harbinger of joy. I truly don’t understand it; how is summer a moment of time that a majority of the population not just lives for, but longs for in those months without its sweltering absence? Maybe the majority of people are just so heat-stroked and fried that they have a Stockholm syndrome-esque attachment to the sun.

I will never look forward to a season that feels like the environment is undergoing a body-boiling fever. A fever that does not break, one that ramps up even worse year by year. And my experience of this heat is unbearable for my unbelievably privileged self. I’m not working a blue-collar job—shovel in the dirt day in and day out. And yet I falter, my shovel consists of wax.

You spend all summer waiting indoors hoping for the weather to return to what I’d like it to be, it refuses to break into a descent in rain. There’s something about rainy weather that makes you feel so human. At the mercy of the elements, whether it’s your soaked shoes and socks that came from a misjudgement of a puddle that you should have stepped more carefully around. Walking suddenly demands focus, in fear of this dystopian outcome of a sogged sock. In the summer you’re jumping from puddles of shade like a frog who can’t swim, desperate to not fall into the harsh and blinding light.

Maybe it’s the insecurity of my carefully constructed self that makes me hate the summer more, as elements outside of my control can break down the product in my hair, or the Aquaphor on my nose. If that is the case and it is my insecurity at fault, it makes sense that most of the population enjoys summer. There’s a level of self-awareness or fear that is not as rampant, it must be wonderful to feel so capable of dealing with every day in a season that somehow makes me feel so small. Everyone raves for the chance to enjoy rays of cancer-filled light, as I somehow sweat myself into a tiny puddle that I wish I could fall into to escape the heat. But I’m sure the moment I do fall in, that puddle will boil.