SAD’s a bitch


SAD came a-knocking last weekend in a flurry of icy winds and child-like sulks. It fluctuated between not wanting to frequent the local charity shops (for a self-confessed spendaholic this is defs weird behaviour) to taking my cuddly toys to the beach in the dark for a tackling-my-emotions evening. The latter obviously seriously questioning my mental health state (and age).

And so it was that I spent the last week comfort eating obscene amounts, I’m talking the whole carbs after six shebang in all its chubby glory, drinking pints of tea, and wearing my tracksuit at every possible opportunity. I’m starting to look, behave and read like the worst possible version of myself. Then, just as it looked like I should either sign up to boot camp, hibernate or start tying a noose, something spellbinding happened – I got a grip.

Seasonal affective disorder is a vile state of affairs. It’s a term we love to use. We enjoy having an excuse to feel miserable, to bathe in self-pity, to rock the woe-is-me persona, it’s a guilty pleasure.

I’m the first person to jump aboard the SAD ship. I’m a hypochondriac and proud. I love to make-up excuses to feel rubbish, because if I feel rubbish then I’m allowed to eat crap, wrap myself up in a duvet, not go to the gym, feeling rubbish allows me to ditch my self-disciplined lifestyle. Feeling rubbish is my escape, and I love that.

Sometimes it’s nice to just sit back (with nachos and a family size bar of Galaxy Cookie Crumble) and accept that we don’t have to be insanely happy all the time. Life may be going swimmingly, but we don’t have to jump up and down with exaggerated joy about it. It’s ok to sometimes just be miserable about nothing because we can. That’s one of the joys of living in a middle class, first world society.

I’ve had a weekend jam-packed with my favourite people (plus a hella lot of wine, food and money spending) and I’m on an autumn high, but trust me, I’ll be ready for the next come down.

It’s just so entirely fabulous to drink tea, spend time with my cuddly toys, have a little cry and eat badly without guilt, so thank you SAD, you’ve been my favourite little guilty pleasure to indulge in of late. I predict a long and (un)happy future for the pair of us 🙂

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