Titles, The Hardest Part Of Writing

I did well today, mostly happy all day long. The Sun certainly helped and while I do believe that seasonal affective disorder is a real thing, I refuse to believe that it is something beyond my scope of control. Stubbornness, conviction and the fact that I truly feel that nothing is actually wrong with me, all contribute to my refusal to seek out professional help or medication for my ever-present bouts of sadness. So many things in life, we have absolutely no control over, so to relinquish control of my own thoughts to a chemical imbalance, or some deficiency, would call into question the entirety of how I identify myself. I often feel a need, a craving if you will, for the solemn. It helps me be creative, it slows everything down. The sadness makes me a better person in a way, but I also despise it. It is a hatred brought on mostly by my inability to control when the real sadness takes hold, like a superhero still unable to control their powers. If I could harness it, without changing it, I feel I could do so much more.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once said. "Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad." That is indeed the worst side effect of not having control of the sorrow, I am often considered cold. I tell myself this isn't true, I believe wholly that I have not become cold, merely sad. Sometimes however, in the grips of it all, I wonder how long it will be before I become cold.

This has become far too depressing and I am far too tired to continue my thoughts. This surely is not the complete solution, but with each word I write I feel as if I can hold back the coldness longer. I apologize to anyone reading that I have brought it to this point on only my second post, it will go up from here.