“A pill to sleep, a pill to wake. A pill just to get through the day--and to wash it all down, Tanqueray.” — William H. Macy’s brilliant character, Frank, the patriarch of the Gallaghers on Showtime’s Shameless.

The onset of autumn is a joyous, wildly celebrated shift in the four seasons that, while adored by many, lends itself just as easily to the vagaries of cold, gray skies and days so incredibly short there seems barely a point sometimes to getting out of bed. For those of us whose natural inclination may not be happiness, exactly--at least, not quite in the depressive sense--who experience, from time to time, a kind of low-grade despair that is a normal part of life, there are some among us whose predilections toward despair develop in their textures more deeply and more shaded as the fall months wear on.

Every October people everywhere rush to their psychiatrists to refill their long-forgotten bottles of Prozac, Celexa, Zoloft, Paxil, Xanax, or what have you. These are people for whom the change of weather inspires feelings of darkness and depression. When the summer air shifts and becomes cold, sweaters and long pants--brought back from the back of the closet--cover cold, sad bodies. The warm, whimsical summer activities have come to an end; pools and barbecues have shut down; semesters and careers have started up again in full force, and we’ve all rushed rapidly back to real life. Because of this, we’re tricked into feeling an acute sense of the world having been struck with a wave of the dreaded Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD--pretty accurately acronymed, if you ask me.

We’ve traded sun rays and sunscreens for humidifiers and thicker foundation--with chapped lips and dry skin. Women are encouraged to pile on pounds, and pounds--and still, a few more pounds--of makeup if they wish to continue feeling attractive. Bodies, covered with winter coats and thick scarves, leave the world lumpy and hidden. Why bother with exercise when bikini season is so far away? Anyone who has ever taken a sixth grade P.E. class knows about endorphins--the neurotransmitters our bodies naturally create to give us a happiness similar to that of an opiate euphoria; without these endorphins flowing through the brain, people feel the need to replace this biological wellspring of feelings with drugs, with alcohol, with random hookups. No longer attracting potential dates with our sparkling summer looks, we must use our personality, we must be genuine, which is difficult and hard and lesser than the easiest way out. Dating becomes scarce, with people no longer gravitating toward one another quickly, with bodies no longer exposed and shining, the vain among us begin to believe we lack positive mating qualities. Again, we run to the pharmacy with visions of dancing pills floating through our heads:

News stories every year declare that this flu season will be the worst ever, making people more hesitant to get close to one another, which in turn makes those interactions we do end up having more unsatisfying, making the lonely even lonelier. The streets, relieved of their welcoming crowds, are instead filled with sad professionals in a rush to get inside, away; there are no more friendly greetings, only shivering strangers avoiding eye contact--it is so,so depressing.

We wake up way too early in the morning, the sun hasn’t even come up to say hello, and we take rushed showers; stepping out from the steam, we are hit with the cruel winter air. Goosebumps cover our wet, dripping bodies and the convulsions begin, so we rush back to our warm, inviting beds. In moments like these, the motivation to be a productive and responsible human being seems limited. Of course, we must eventually venture out to start the day, but even innocuous morning greetings to strangers begging to hold conversation can be draining.

Tonight as I walk into my friend’s apartment, I asked him how he was, to which he not so much replied as he let out a long sigh: “Well, I’m really depressed because it’s cold out again, and I suspect, perhaps, everybody is.” So the season of SAD(ness) begins. Sitting down on the couch with his bottle of Prozac, he took out another pill and washed it down with a swig of vodka. The SSRI known for slowing the re-uptake of serotonin at the synapses traps the happy feelings inside of our brains, forcing us to feel happy. Antidepressants elevate the mood, helping to bring people out of crippling depression. SSRIs are the most widely prescribed medications in the treatment of mood disorders, and doctors are quick to hand them out--uncontrolled as they are, and mostly benign chemicals. In fact, my own psychiatrist prescribed me Celexa to take in tandem with Ativan, a benzodiazepine for anxiety disorders, with no hesitation. I walked in for my monthly appointment, dropped my purse on the ground, and, before even sitting down, confessed, “I have been so depressed.” This man didn’t waste a single second; he immediately pulled out his prescription pad and told me I’d be happy again in no time. I didn’t bother with asking him what I’d be taking and he didn’t waste any time telling me--I didn’t care, I just wanted medicine. If this experience is at all telling of patients and psychiatrists around the country, we truly are a medicated society. In the past, people took pills to change their mood--but it terrified them; it’s not so scary anymore.

Decades ago medication was seen as a last resort to treating mood disorders. In today's world, most patients skip the long, drawn out cognitive-behavioral therapy, the aversion therapy, the psychoanalysis, even the talk therapy. Unconscious of the fact that changing weather does great damage to the mood, it is the human condition to seek comfort--but we won’t work for that comfort; we want instead the greatest reward with the least risk. It’s easier to take a pill than to remember to exercise or to get our Vitamin D rations. This love for instant gratification is making younger generations incredibly lazy--if we feel depressed, we take an SSRI; if we think we’re fat, we take appetite suppressants and avoid the kitchen for a few days; if there’s a paper due, we swallow Ritalin or Adderall or Dexedrine or what have you; if all of that is keeping us awake at night, we pop an Ambien; and to wake up in the morning, we require cup after cup after pot of strong coffee.

Older Americans, perhaps in their seventies, have a huge problem with the way we--the youth--medicate ourselves. After all, they were part of the Silent Generation, who missed World War II and Great Depression hardships, and were left at the tail end of catastrophe to rebuild the country and fix the economy. Because of this, many of that Silent Generation believe they worked harder than any other, that they alone built modern America on their poor, aching backs. They tend to advise us to work harder and stop using drugs to get through the day, to perk up and just be happy--while I internalize this advice, it tends to bring bring out the Will Smith in me: they just don’t understand.

America has fostered a culture of competition and anxiety in young people today, and that is something our grandparents will never understand. Why would they? The millennial generation is faced with much more pressure from conflicting media messages, some of them demotivating. Our generation is seen as overly-ambitious, frightened, paranoid, versatile, narcissistic, and far too reliant on our parents. Like the Silent Generation, and every generation before and after them, we of generation Millennial expect success and hope to change the world. Unfortunately we are too anxious and distracted to do much to change anything. As sixteen-year-old pop sensation, Lorde, sings in the song “Tennis Courts,” “We’re so happy, even when we’re smiling out of fear…” which is pretty apt; the internet and smartphones have overwhelmed us with messages of terror about uncertain job markets, stock markets, all markets crumbling with the economy; our going, going, gone--dying, dying, dead ecosystem. And we’re expected to fix all of this. Of course we are depressed--of course we need to be heavily medicated; even writing the last few sentences made me clutch my pill bottles in a rush for comfort.

Society today faces high expectations with conflicting guidance. Everybody is battling anxiety, regarding either personal life or responsibility, along with generalized anxiety about the world falling apart at any second--about the sky falling down. Sure, exercise, vitamins, and counseling may help depressed people through bad moods, but sometimes there is no other option. Doctors have been quick to prescribe drugs, and we have gladly swallowed them. It’s difficult to remember that an abrupt change in weather can disrupt daily routine and throw people into a nervous depression. I’m now conscious of this and have been able to meet my autumn with a sly happiness; rather than facing these changes unprepared for and running to my doctor, I have faced this cold with a positive attitude (so far) and if everything goes as planned, I’ll make it into next spring alive without increasing my dosage; hopefully--though some things never change.