back-to-school blues

If I looked back at my September posts for the past five or six years, I suspect I would find that writing about end of summer depression has become an annual tradition. I love to teach so I never really dreaded the start of the fall semester, but when summer ends certain windows close—literally and figuratively. I’m ready for fall weather. As much as I love looking at the crisscrossing tan lines my sandals have left on my feet, I’m ready to bundle up and disappear beneath woolen sweaters and tights. I miss having a cup of tea every day, even though that tends to increase my sugar consumption because I can’t have tea without cookies. I know I have the blues because I haven’t been craving sugar lately; I’ve maintained my Friday cake consumption, but the last slice didn’t really satisfy. I’ve lived with depression and anxiety since I was a teen, so I think about my mood on a regular basis; I’ve never had to hide my condition because some of my friends live with depression, too, and we tend to check in on each other if someone withdraws or otherwise shows sign of distress. But sometimes no one else sees the signs. I had a fairly productive summer: I wrote a middle grade novel, 2 picture book stories, and I added 12,000 words to the sequel that shall not be named. Yesterday I churned out 1500 more words and completed a sixth chapter. That still leaves seven unfinished chapters but it’s progress, right? My sister, who is a psychologist, once told me that mental illness needed to be treated once it started to interfere with a person’s ability to function. But what if depression and anxiety enhance rather than diminish your productivity and creativity? I’ve tried therapy and I would try medication if my mental illness ever did start to interfere with my ability to write. Until then, I’ll continue to shape my life in a way that minimizes stress and maximizes my dream time. I think September gives me the blues because it makes me think about family, the one area of my life where I do feel like a failure. I’m generally okay with being a spinster but when I get the blues, I do look at this writer’s life and wonder if it will always be enough. I manage my anxiety by avoiding many of the things that make me anxious—like my family!—but the universe will only let you dodge your fears for so long. I turn 43 next month and soon won’t have the option of having a baby. I’ve thought about adopting for a long time but I haven’t built a life that could accommodate or provide for a child. So what’s a girl to do? Visit the garden, finish another chapter, and let this annual blue period run its course, I guess.