Green Day has a song called “Wake Me Up When September Ends.” I don’t like September either. For that matter, I don’t like October or November. I would rather be woken when autumn ends completely. I don’t know why, but autumn feels bad to me.
I don’t have anniversaries of deaths in the autumn. Or anything else that I can think of. It took me a long time to figure out this pattern; I’m not sure why, since it happened every year. At least once I figured it out, I wasn’t so blindsided, but I never found a reason.
Maybe it’s the days getting shorter; I’m sure that has something to do with it. But then, why is fall harder than winter or early spring? It’s something in the feel of the air. The smell of fall – which so many people love – starts to panic me because I’m used to it bringing despair. Fall foliage, which is so beautiful, feels like a beacon of depression. It’s more than sadness; it’s loneliness, despair, dread, and hopelessness – but for no apparent reason.
This is the first year I’ve felt better at this time of year. I’m hoping that the autumn doesn’t end that. Or that my dread of what autumn brings doesn’t end that.