#Seasonal Depression
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The existence of the winter solstice is a great thing in principle because misery really is easier to bear when you know for a fact that it won't last forever, but the fact that it's on a precise timetable makes it weird. Knowing that it's going to keep on getting steadily worse for exactly nine days and fourteen hours and not a moment longer creates some strange behavioural incentives, is what I mean to say.
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splish splash
#dont worry im ok! im just goin through it.#anyway just gonna keep it rollin w comics that make me physically cringe as i contemplate the post button#comics on tumblr#artists on tumblr#emotional regulation#diary comic#corvid#seasonal depression#seasonal affective disorder#davedrawsstuff#no image description#drowning cw#thalassophobia cw
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Feeling restless? Needing some kind of unnamed comfort that cannot be satisfied by scrolling through video after video of rapid fire brain melting media? Haven't eaten a vegetable in a while?
This will fix that.
1. Pre heat your oven to 375 ish.
2. Chop up some veg. Carrots, onions, tomatoes, zucchini, any kind of squash. Even better if they're the kind of wrinkly ones you've had in the fridge drawer for too long. I always do an entire head of garlic. Don't peel it, just cut the top off. Rub some oil over the veg and cook for 25 ish minutes. They should be carmalized/burn on top.
3. Put all the leftover bits you chopped off the veggies into a pot of water and boil while you roast your veg you can also add chicken or pork bones. I added thyme and rosemary and ginger too because I like those flavours. If you forget this step just use a chicken or veggie broth cube.
After 25 minutes they should look like this.
3. Scoop the old veggies out of the broth. Taste and season with salt or whatever.
4. Add what ever frozen veggies you have now. I used butternut squash.
5. Add the roasted veg. You can squeeze the garlic directly out of the head if it's not too hot.
6. Boil for a bit, blend or mash and serve! With sourdough and goat cheese if you're feeling fancy.
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it’s not seasonal depression it’s year long depression
#girlblogger#lana del rey#femcel#female hysteria#girl interrupted syndrome#girly thoughts#hell is a teenage girl#lizzy grant#the feminine urge#seasonal depression#mental illness#mental health
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it's december you know what that means
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As the seasons change and the days get shorter, remember to take a little extra care of yourself and your loved ones. If you find yourself struggling more than usual or sad suddenly, remember that there’s a perfectly good reason to be. Make a warm cup of soup. Sit in the sunlight when it’s there. Accept help from those around you. Be patient with yourself. The sun will rise again.
#mental health#sad#seasonal depression#seasonal affective depression#suggestions#self love#anxiety#depression#ed recovery#winter#short days#wintercore#cozycore
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Its that time of year again, folks. Prepare thyselves.
#depression#seasonal depression#second breakfast meme#im sure someone somewhere has done this already but whatever heres my version
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Photo
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it is winter and nothing in my house is doing well. my plants are mad at me. there's a creeping fog of fruit flies hanging by the sink. I catch myself reasoning the nutritional value of boxed wine. my dog drops his ball at my feet and all I can do is apologize. a back tooth hurts for two days and then winks a "just kidding."
it is a hard thing to realize this is all mine, all the time. the dishes. the oil change. the postcards I meant to send two weeks ago to friends I love, but can't bring myself to text back. is adulthood just upkeep? iron supplements and grocery runs. work meetings to track YoY progress where I can't help but picture my life as a flat line the past few months. it's winter. I try to remember everything seems bigger when I can't open the windows and air out my worries. that every year, my writing gets buried under the snow, only to sprout something new once the days get longer. yes, this is just mine, and it feels hard to love when I'm throwing on a few more layers to make sure it's warm, bringing tissues when it is sniffling through some flu shots, or replacing a weeping bag of spinach with a fresh one to see if this is the week we let good habits stick. this is mine. and while I'll chew through a few layers of bottom lip when the going gets rough, I'm still set on going.
I can be gentle. I can be patient. I can remember for every heavy ounce of ownership, there are moments of weightlessness in between. this is mine, to kiss the tears from my own cheeks and feel my young heart bandage its knees. even when walked slowly, there's a better I keep catching glimpses of, with no deadline of arrival.
#poetry#poems#spilled ink#journal#mental health#adulthood#seasonal affective disorder#schuyler peck#winter#seasonal depression
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Gettin my seasonally depressed ass into the sunshine
I watched a sunset for the first time in years???
#trans punk#queer punk#genderqueer#seasonal affective disorder#seasonal depression#winter depression#selfie#queer punx#trans punx#punk jacket#genderqueer dyke#genderqueer butch#genderqueer lesbian#nonbinary lesbian#they them butch#Aqueertalksqueerly
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the internal dialog corvids in: 'tis the season(al depression)
#i feel like this one is gonna get me some concerned messages so i just wanna say dont worry! im fine! the yearly Darkness just fucks with me#diary comic#corvid#artists on tumblr#comics on tumblr#seasonal depressive disorder#seasonal depression#davedrawsstuff#suicidal ideation#death m
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Seasonal Depression - Natasha Romanoff x Reader
summary: natasha has been away on a mission, but when she comes back she discovers you haven't been taking care of yourself
tw: (seasonal) depression, mentions of sh
Winter was always hard for you.
Exhaustion fuelled the ache deep within your bones. Your body was telling you to scream out in anguish but you couldn't find the energy to. You shivered as a cold gust of air blew your door open.
Footsteps could be heard from downstairs as they quickly got closer and louder. You didn't have the willpower to move, you were convinced this was the end.
Closing your eyes, you accepted whatever fate may come upon you.
Until, a soft hand gently caressed your face. Natasha was home.
Her speech was muffled to you, her tone sounding gentle but worrisome. She was quick to shut the windows and throw a blanket over you.
“... car… Fury… elevator… “ you could barely understand what she was saying, “... pancakes…” your finger twitched slightly when she mentioned your favourite breakfast that she could make.
A small grin crept it's way onto her face as she carefully tucked you in and kissed your forehead before running back downstairs.
You weren't sure how much time had passed before she came back with a huge stack of pancakes with your favourite toppings.
Carefully, she sat against your headboard and helped you sit in front of her, your back against her chest. She slowly fed you until you refused to eat any more and finished the rest off herself.
“Thank you,” you croaked hoarsely. It had been tough without Natasha for so long, sometimes missions took her away from you for months on end. Thankfully, this one had only been a couple of weeks, however, that didn't stop you from falling back into your old habits.
Seasonal depression was always something you had struggled with, and Natasha knew this. She wasn't at home to encourage you to take your medication so you had completely forgotten. You rarely got out of bed while she was gone, only to go to the bathroom and to drink some water.
The small cuts littering your thigh had mostly healed, but they were still noticeable. Natasha saw them and gently brushed her thumb over them and kissed the top of your head.
“I missed you, detka,” she gently stroked your thigh as you stared blankly at the door in front of you. There were photos of you and Natasha stuck to it, a gentle reminder of your love for one another.
She held you like that for a while, not speaking but instead conveying her love for you in a silent, tender way. Her gentle touches soothed you and she knew that.
“How about we go take a bath?” she asked you, and you nodded slightly.
Carefully, she slipped out from behind you and began to fill the bathtub with warm water. She carried you into the bathroom and delicately placed you down in front of her in the bath, resuming your previous position.
Her soft hands gently massaged your scalp and washed your hair, taking care to not hurt you at all. You offered her a small smile, to which she returned with her own as well a kiss to your cheek.
After a while, she dried you off and carried you back to bed, helping you get dressed in some shorts and one of her shirts before tucking you back in and getting her laptop.
She helped you lay against her chest, tucked into her side with a warm feeling in both of your hearts. “How about we watch a show and eat some snacks?” she suggested. “Yes, please,” you nodded into her soft skin. “Of course, moya lyubov,” she gently kissed the top of your head, leaning over to her bedside table to retrieve her emergency snack basket.
Winter was always hard for you, but Natasha made it easier.
#ybml writes#natasha romanoff#natasha#natasha romanov#natasha romanoff x reader#natasha romanoff x you#natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader#seasonal depression#tw depression#tw self harm#marvel#avengers#the avengers#black widow x reader#black widow#scarlett johansson#wlw#sapphic#fanfiction
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“You cannot live your life to please others. the choice must be yours.” Susan
Uh. So this prompt possessed me a little bit, I sure hope smoking isn't a trigger for you, anon.
____
Sometimes, in the summers, when the air is thick and heavy, dripping with unshed rain and pressing into the hollow of her clavicles, Susan Pevensie stands in her mother's garden, and bathes in the sun. She drapes her blouse, soaked with sweat, and her skirt, soaked with perfume, over the old rocking chair that has long since splintered under the weight of its age, and then:
A breath.
With closed eyes and soft mouth, rouge-dotted and lipstick-smeared, Susan Pevensie tilts her face towards the light. Her brassiere is damp with English rain that won't fall, her petticoats are stiff with English breeze that won't blow and her wrists are strung up by English strings that won't pull.
Blue skies are rare, here. England is grey, and England is cloudy, and England rains and rains and rains until it has made itself sick and its ground unsteady. Some weeks, the clouds hang low for so long that the sun cannot reach what it wishes to nourish. Some weeks, Susan sits by her window, her head pressed against the glass, and watches the clouds drip into fog, the fog drip into the earth, and the earth drown and cry. Until her skin matches the grey of the skies, until her mind drips from her every breath onto the paneled glass, until she can't see through the fog, anymore.
"Su", says her brother, then, his hands on her forehead, his mouth in her hair. "Susie." His hands, shaking and unsteady, are warm and getting warmer with every passed winter. His voice, soft and careful and stripped of teeth, drops steadily deeper. When he turns his head, the beginnings of a stubble scrape against her cheek.
"Light of my life, sun of my skies."
The skies are grey. The grass is grey. The fence is grey. The world is grey.
Peter's eyes are blue. The clouds don't gather around his pupils, and his irises are clear as they've been for days. The English sky has never echoed the yellow freckles.
The Narnian skies were ever centered around the pupil of her sun, in the soft yellow streaks of Peter's eyes.
Susan wets her lips. She doesn't wet her cheeks.
Peter climbs onto the bench. "My sister", he says softly. "Where have you gone?"
Susan buries her face in his chest and leaves behind great streaks of make-up on his bleached dress shirt: a mouth of lipstick, a blur of rouge, a dust of powder. Splotches of mascara, lines of kohl. Marks of eyeshadow.
Peter rubs her back, and Susan doesn't cry.
In the summers, she drinks the sun with greedy mouth and empty stomach and hungry, hungry skin. In the dripping air and the burning grass, Susan Pevensie strips to her undergarments - and breathes.
In, and out.
A breath, and then another.
Beyond her closed eyes, the world drips reds and oranges, and bright, stark yellows. Beyond her hollow mouth, the air coats her windpipe; a slow dripping of heat.
She is alone, here. She drops her ball-jointed limbs and her painted porcelain face, turns her opal glass palms right side up, and breathes.
Until her lungs settle, and the fog has run dry. Until the colours are a bit sharper, a bit brighter. A smear more familiar.
-
The party is slow. Nicotine gathers heavy on the ceiling, and the music is a little too loud to be ambient. The drinks are spiked, the hems are lifted, and Susan is standing by the door, watching her friend lose the last of her lipstick to a stranger's mouth.
The boy is. Well, he's fine. Polite and gentle, soft-spoken. He ducks his head and worries the tips of his fingers and the spread of his lips until they bleed. His hair would curl, if it was long enough, and when she blows smoke in his direction, he coughs.
Smiles.
Susan takes another drag of her cigarette. Flicks the ash to the floor. Smiles.
"You'll have to forgive the cigarette", she says around the smoke seeping from her mouth. "It calms me down."
The boy blinks at her, and wets his bottom lip. It is dark with blood, dotted purple where he has almost broken skin, swollen with the almost-injury. "I can't imagine anyone ever denies you much of anything", he says. "You're too pretty for that."
"Too pretty to be annoyed with?"
He shrugs. His shoulders are slumped forwards, and it makes his suit jacket sit oddly on the rounded curve of his back. "People love pretty things. Better to keep them around."
Her cigarette is stained with her lipstick, and the tips of her fingers drip with it. The smoke in her lungs is warm, and the alcohol in her blood is warmer, still, so Susan tilts her head. "When I was a little girl, my mother bought me a little lace collar. I wore it until it broke, and begged her to fix it when it had long become too threadbare to even be touched."
The boy nods, and takes a breath.
Susan clicks her tongue. "I'd gotten beet juice on it, and it wouldn't come out in the wash. No matter the soap, no matter the scrub. There was a small pink stain near the lapel, and it simply bled in all directions. So my mother soaked it in bleach."
The boy cannot pull his shoulders forwards any further. He cannot bend his back more. He digs his teeth into the purple marks on his lips.
"The bleach dissolved most of it. The lace was too delicate." Susan throws the cigarette stub on the floor and savours the last breath of it, the hot coating of her tongue. "If she hadn't tried to get the stain out, it wouldn't have broken."
The boy's teeth break his skin. The blood pools, dark and shy, around the enamel and into the corners of his mouth. "You couldn't have worn the stained collar", he says, with his soft voice and his soft eyes, his soft, soft hair.
"Why not?"
"Well", says the boy. His shirt is starched and bleached. There is a wrinkle ironed firmly into the placket. He coughs again. "It was already ruined before your mother bleached it. It was stained."
Susan crushes the stub underneath her shoe. The music covers the sound of the grinding and the soft hiss of the dying embers. "It was mine, and I loved it", she says. "Was it my mother's call to make what I could bear?"
The boy shrugs. "It's a lace collar. There are others."
Susan hums. "Perhaps. But I wanted this one." Across the room, someone spills red wine over someone else's lap. Someone else holds their cigarette too close to their lover's sleeve. "You shouldn't live your life to please others. You mind the smoke, and you mind the talking. And yet-"
The boy laughs. The corners of his eyes wrinkle, the apples of his cheeks flush dark, and the blood on his lips spreads slow across his teeth.
"And yet", he says, "here I am."
#narnia#the chronicles of narnia#tcon#susan pevensie#peter pevensie#tcon fanfic#tcon fanfiction#narnia fanfic#narnia fanfiction#the chronicles of narnia fanfiction#the chronicles of narnia fanfic#seasonal depression#smoking#susan flirting at a party#susan having a panic attack about english weather#she contains multitudes#the problem of susan#sort of#larissa makes things
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I remember the first time I learned what seasonal affective disorder was it was framed as “when you experience depression only in the cold fall-winter months” and I was like “that is ridiculous to me, those are the only months I feel happy in and every day that is warm and sunny makes me completely listless and miserable to the point where I just want to fast forward my life so I don’t have to experience a single drop of this weather because too many days of sun and heat in a row will literally put me on the verge of tears from how much I hate it with every fiber of my being” and then years later found out that S.A.D. can happen with any season and not just winter and I was like well that explains a lot lol
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