I try to remind myself constantly that better things are on the horizon. I tell myself to put one foot in front of the other and to keep moving. But it does often feel like melancholy is the flavor of the lifetime.

When I was a kid growing up in California, I would yearn for summer every year, and its end would always bring a sunsetting sadness to me. That's still the case even now. As summer fades, I find myself embraced by winter's maudlin madness despite my fighting back.

I know a lot more about depression now than I did as a kid. The whole world knows a lot more about it than back then. In a lot of ways this is a kinder world than it used to be. But it's crueler, too.

I've done a lot to combat depression over the years. Right now I've found a balance I've rarely been able to attain before, but the experience of life has taught me how precarious any balance is. I cannot indulge in the innocence of thinking I can decisively win once and for all.

I've tried various medications, and they mostly have the effect of dulling my senses. Depression and anxiety give way to emotionless detachment. I find myself not caring if I make it into work or if I drink myself to death. I've read enough about psychology and neuroscience to give myself a good primer on the whole field.

Right now, I've been doing short intense exercises 3 times a day for the last 4 months and it's managed to keep the worst parts of my psyche at bay. I've changed my diet and almost completely cut out sugar and carbs, and it has made things more pleasant. I'm happy to see myself again. But still, as the summer fades I find myself fighting more and more often.

When I was younger I didn't have a lot of friends. Or any, really. Neurodivergence in the wrong community at the wrong time, combined with untreated family mental illness led to a lot of alienation and loneliness. But that changed when I was in high school and I guess found my people. The first time.

Those years were the most carefree I've ever had. And those summers were filled with time wasted in warm winds with beautiful people and never questioning my place in the sun. They were the sort of happy days you'd think would never end. But we know better now, don't we?

Funny thing about bad days. They always come back. Every day of summer can be a golden marathon with everyone cheering your name, but winter always comes back. It has to. It's not a bad thing, or rather bad things are needed for good things to happen.

It wasn't until I went to college in my late 20s that I started to find my people again. That long time spent alone was mostly my fault, giving in to fears and holding onto the past, wishing and hoping that one day everything would go back to normal.

So I find myself far from home, missing people and places that I felt were such a part of me that I couldn't live without them. Still, I am living. As it gets colder, their absence becomes more and more a gaping chasm in my heart.

I wish things could be a little like they used to. That people that I lost would come back with a smile on their face. But I try to remind myself that I need to keep moving forward. My best days are still ahead. I haven't met everyone that will love me yet.

Summer always comes around again. So I will let my sorrow pass through me, and whatever tears I shed just added to the pile. Wouldn't want to miss the present, after all.