Defrosting

Words by Summer Smith

Freeze (Fight or Flight)

I’ve been hibernating since October— the initial wind chill and cloudy skies (I blamed) have brought me here. It’s almost winter break, I’m in college, my knees and back hurt far more than usual, this depressive episode (via undiagnosed bipolar disorder), and my bed has entrapped me completely. I am lucky we are in quarantine, otherwise, I would need to get up and go to class. So, instead,I slither out of my too tall dorm bed, carefully step onto the grey ottoman beside it, go to sit in my tan papasan chair (broken and gifted to me by my older sister) in front of my desk, open up my 2010 Dell laptop that hyperventilates when I turn it on, and log into Canvas or enter a Zoom class. It’s freshman year. I am 18. I never thought I would have gotten this far— I’m not even sure how I did. A lot of bad things are happening all around me: my best friend at the time is an alcoholic and is sneaking vodka into our dorm room , there is high tension with my other best friend (thankfully, we work through this and are now even closer), I’m in an abusive and neglectful relationship (I am out of this relationship a month after I turn 20 and meet the love of my life a few months later), and I am constantly cycling between bouts of depression and hypomania (which I am now medicated for— and the medical concoction I am on is near perfect for me). But it’s all 100% because of the cold, and definitely not some sort of awful coincidence that a bunch of traumatic things happening during cold seasons have instilled this slow progression towards madness each winter.

Winters weren’t always the season I dreaded. In middle and high school, summer was the worst for me. I hated my hot, ugly purple bedroom that the AC could barely reach, and not seeing my “friends” every day. I felt like I was constantly in limbo. I’d cut my bangs to feel some sort of control, write edgy poetry in my notebooks (which were plentiful) to get the emo out, or argue with my parents because of what I perceived to be cabin fever (in reality, my emotional regulation needed work). Something magically shifted overnight when I became a legal adult. And I wasn’t yet feeling this intense pressure I now feel in my near mid-twenties, but more like the worst mental health downward spiral I had experienced in my entire life. Rather than just cut my hair, I began to self-harm and self-sabotage in a lot of different ways, some being disordered eating and completely ignoring my loved ones. I was stuck ruminating on the future and constantly getting existential over it. I was stuck thinking about death and what that would be like. How fragile everything and everyone is. Something about the sun being gone, its warmth no longer enveloping me, the color of everything dulling without it.

The Great Thaw

         For the longest time, I’d go dormant. Dissociative. I would be locked inside my own mind, looking through my eyes like glass or a TV screen, watching ice form on the sidewalk outside of my university apartment window. Now that I’ve graduated from college, winter has shifted again. It’s not like I’m no longer mentally ill or not feeling the blues the cold brings in, but I’m practicing reframing it all. I step outside and let the cold air surround me, surrender to it, let it ground me. I breathe my past in and allow the future to settle in my lungs, then exhale pure and present heat. Historically, winter has signified the end of life, decay, sorrow, reflection, rest, and renewal. The end of 2024 and the beginning of 2025— this frosty season nearing its end— has been full of the last three.

         Each morning, depending on if I’m in Maryland or Delaware, I wake up between six and-seven am or nine and ten am and make myself a cup of coffee (1 teaspoon instant coffee, 3 teaspoons of sugar, fill with water but leave room for milk) in my favorite mug— a National Aquarium mug that I got while on a date with my partner— and consume the coffee with pandesal or a blueberry muffin. The family dog, Ponyo, sits at my feet unless my mom is home. Then, I take my morning medications, fix my bed, and decide if I want to: A. write for this Zine, Substack, or just journal for myself, B. read Substack pieces, C. watch YouTube videos and avoid Shorts, D. play a cozy game (Animal Crossing has been my main recently), or E. finally continue my job hunt (I’ve applied to hundreds at this point). Whichever I didn’t decide to do that morning, I will do later in any order that feels right to me (all while watching anime or Gilmore Girls or YouTube video essays again). I eat lunch around noon, dinner around 6:00 pm, and retreat to my bedroom at around six to eight pm, where I turn on my ambient lights and cozy up in my stuffed animal-filled bed while on FaceTime with my partner. In DE, it’s pretty much the same, except I wait for my partner to come home, and we spend our nights together.  Finding routine, being medicated, reading and writing, and having the privilege of being taken care of by my parents while I look for a job (I don’t know what I’d do without the support system I have today) has brought me peace in the cold months spent indoors.

Current Status: Spring

Spring has always been my constant, and autumn is a close second (but only the beginning when it’s still in the middle of cool and warm). The dandelions start to bloom in patches of slowly reviving grass, everything progressing in green, wearing gingham when it makes sense to, the sun, the rain, my hypomania taking over (I enjoy feeling like I’ve finally figured my shit out and being able to get things done at rapid speeds— but nothing else about it). My routine will be the same, but with glimpses of the sun and standing outside barefoot on the patio while Ponyo walks along the fence. I wear my headphones with sweat behind my ears seeping into my hair and stare up at the brilliant blue sky. I fill my journal up with flowers and onion grass and other weeds. I stop sleeping in just so I can wake up with the sun, peeking through the half-open blinds and sheer curtains. I cannot stop writing about the sun in spring. I am sun-aged. My bones break in this sun-warmed body, my joints ease up. I am becoming more and more intertwined with the sunset; my circadian rhythm back in place. Stone fruit season. Rebirth. Awakening. Beginning again. My wardrobe has to be replaced by my warm weather clothing sitting in boxes, spring cleaning must be done. I forget I am worried about figuring out being an adult. I write about the sun. The sun. The sun. I remember why I survive each season.