The Painfully Honest Version of SAD.

Last Updated on July 6, 2025 by Pen Pixel

You ever wake up one morning and feel like your soul forgot to show up?

You’re staring at the wall, breathing but not really alive. You’re not crying, not angry, not anything. Just… empty. Like you got downloaded into the wrong version of yourself.

And the wildest part is that, the sun just dipped a little earlier than usual. That’s it.

The Key Takeaway.

Seasonal Affective Disorder isn’t about “feeling cold and tired.” It’s not just winter blues or a dramatic mood swing. It’s your brain glitching because your body’s internal wiring starts to malfunction the minute the seasons shift. And nobody talks about how real, how humiliating, how weirdly quiet that breakdown feels.

What Is Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD)?

SAD is like depression’s seasonal cousin. It creeps in when the weather changes, especially when sunlight disappears. But let’s not treat it like some cute little “mood drop.”

Because it’s not cute. It’s paralyzing.

• It’s lying in bed with your phone five inches from your face, knowing you haven’t replied texts in 3 weeks.
• Showering once in 4 days, not because you’re dirty, but because you’re disconnected.
• It’s being surrounded by people, and still feeling alone.
• It’s craving sleep but being scared of nightmares.
• Brushing your teeth and crying because that’s the first thing you’ve accomplished in 24 hours.
• It’s walking through life with a frozen version of yourself, like someone pressed pause but left you breathing.

Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD): What You Should Know.

This is real. This is chemical. It is your brain reacting to less light the way some phones freak out when you put them on low battery mode.

• Your serotonin? Drops.
• Melatonin? Freaks out.
• Mood regulation? Screams.
• Energy? Tragic.
• Sleep? Ruined.
• Appetite? Weird AF. Either you’re eating everything in sight or forgetting food exists. No in-between.

But no one tells you how personal it feels. Like your own mind is ghosting you. Like your personality took a seasonal job elsewhere and left you stuck with this clone version who’s just… surviving.

• You start to dread evenings. Not because of what happens, but because of what doesn’t. The sun sets at 6PM and your brain goes, “Welp. That’s enough functioning for today.”

• You cancel plans without guilt. Not because you’re lazy, but because your body feels like a cement bag soaked in sadness.

• You romanticize isolation. But not in a cute movie way. In a scary, dangerous, “I hope nobody notices I’m disappearing” way.

• You become this walking contradiction. You want help, but you also want silence. You want to be seen, but not touched. You want comfort, but people feel like static.

• You start craving light like an addict. Not metaphorical light, literal light. A lamp. A bulb. A sunbeam through your window. Just something to prove you’re still alive.

SAD doesn’t always show up like sadness. Sometimes, it looks like anger. Like snapping over small things. Being rude to people you love because your system is fried, or even hating yourself for being “dramatic” when really, your brain just can’t function right now.

It can look like:

• Oversleeping but still exhausted.
• Binge-watching shows but not remembering a single scene.
• Eating comfort food but not even tasting it.
• Numb scrolling until your eyes hurt.
• Wanting hugs but flinching when someone actually touches you.

It’s like your soul goes offline for the season, and you’re just keeping your body warm until it returns.

And if you think you’re lazy, you’re not.

Let me repeat that louder: You’re not lazy. You’re light-deprived, over-processing, overstimulated. You’re exhausted from fighting a war that doesn’t make noise.

• It’s your internal clock going nuts.
• The weather messing with your wiring.
• It’s biology. Period.

So What Can You Do?

• Light therapy lamp. (Yep. Fake sun. It helps. It’s weird. But it helps.)

• Morning routine, even if it’s fake. Pretend to be a functioning person until your body catches up.

• Let your room breathe. Open a window. A curtain. Anything. Just let light touch you.

• Keep warm. Your mood is low, don’t let your body get cold too. It triggers your depression like a switch.

• Name it. Don’t say “I feel off.” Say “This is SAD and it’s messing with me.” Naming the monster makes it smaller.

• Move your body a little. Not a full workout. Just movement. Stretch. Walk. Shake off the stillness.

• Eat warm, real food. Not random junk. Feed your body so your brain has something to work with.

• Don’t isolate in silence. Even if you can’t hang out, tell someone. Text a friend “hey I’m not okay.” Let people see the cracks.

I know it feels like this fog will never lift. Like this version of you is permanent or that you’re fading into someone you won’t recognize in 2 months. But I promise, this isn’t the end. This is a season. And seasons pass. Even the cruel ones.