During the colder months, my brain shuts down certain parts in order to preserve energy, function, and overall sustainability. In doing so, it doesn’t realize that it’s actually hurting and not helping. That’s the thing about brains – they don’t always work the way you want them to.

It’s a sadistic attack on my body’s wellbeing – a form of volatile hibernation, if you will. The parts that shut down almost completely include some of my most treasured parts that allow me to be who I am – the social sector, the positivity sphere, the motivational membrane, blah blah blah. It inhibits my ability to find the fun in things or, even more dramatically, it inhibits my ability to do things. How can people declare their favorite season as winter? What brand of antidepressant are they on? Were they born sociopaths, or did they gradually form those traits through years of enjoying a time of year as equally dreary as their hearts?

Going downtown? No way. It’s thirty degrees and has been dark for five hours already, so might as well call it an early night and head to bed. I can’t slip and bust my ass on ice if it’s planted safe and sound under my plush comforter.

Working out? Sure, it may be one of the only things that provide my brain with even an inkling of endorphins, but it is such a burden getting out of the apartment and driving in potentially terrible weather conditions just for an hour or so of activity. Getting back into the car after you’ve worked out might as well be a form of torture as I usually have turned into an icicle.

Not to mention everything not only looks grayer and duller – the sky, the ground, the trees, my skin – but everything feels a lot dimmer too. I can no longer look out my window and say “Ah, what a beautiful day!” because more often than not, a huge looming cloud hangs above my town, threatening to break and cause chaos all around me.

Maybe it’s seasonal depression, maybe I’m just not meant to live in a city that can say it has a definitive winter season. Regardless, the winter blues are real for this gal. Come New Year's Day, I’m about done with Jack Frost nipping at my nose and all that bullshit. He can go back to where he came from and stay out of my life. In the meantime, I’ll be daydreaming about blue skies, warm breezes, and having the confidence to get into my car and drive without fear of ice making me slip and slide all over the interstate.