Seeking Light: Cycling Through Memories Amid Winter's Whispers

As I revealed in some previous posts, I am experiencing seasonal depression. This isn't a diagnosis from a doctor but rather a self-diagnosis.

Last Monday, exactly a week ago, I visited a local clinic to review the results of a health checkup. The doctor provided me with a report stating that there were no significant abnormalities in my blood or urine tests.

During the checkup on the last end of last month, I was told that my blood pressure was slightly elevated. I had been exploring possibilities of what might be causing my ongoing forgetfulness, speculating with AI assistance that it could be due to a slight imbalance in the calcium pumps of my cells caused by pH changes from hyperventilation. However, the results of last Monday showing no abnormalities left me feeling a bit deflated. Of course, I should be glad that nothing was wrong, but a small part of me had hoped that finding something might open the door to discussing my mental health with the doctor. So, on the way home, I felt somewhat dissatisfied and a bit dejected.

When I returned home and opened my computer, I was startled to find a reply from somewhere because I had believed that it would be a few further weeks later. It felt almost like divine irony that it arrived right after receiving my health results. Given my fragile mental state those days, I decided to wait until the following morning to open it.

Recently, I’ve been waking up early. However, as the season shifts toward winter, sunrise comes later, meaning I spend my early mornings in darkness. This only deepens my depression. Finally, I declared to my family that I am experiencing seasonal depression. While they probably thought, “You’ve been saying that for a while,” the difference this time was that I updated my Twitter, Facebook, and blog profiles to reflect this openly—a significant step for me.

In the online world, I’ve always maintained a strong, confident persona, never admitting weakness. Even if only temporarily, altering that took considerable resolve, especially given my stubborn nature. I avoided directly stating “depression” and instead framed it as a health issue.

Strangely enough, doing so brought a sense of relief. (Though the shortage of reactions like “Take care of yourself” perhaps reflects both my usual demeanor and my lack of personal charm—I couldn’t help but chuckle at that thought.)

In Japan, November 23rd (Saturday) is a national holiday. Since it didn’t fall on a Sunday this year, the following Monday wasn’t designated as a substitute holiday. Anyway, I went cycling on Saturday to a renowned shrine in the south of the city where I live, dedicated to health and business prosperity. On Sunday, I cycled northward into the mountainous region to visit an equally famous old temple. Both are places I frequently visited as a child with my parents and grandparents, making them—and the sights along the way—especially meaningful to me. I found myself enjoyed seeing a lot of visitors at both places.

The cycling trips were also a way to soak up sunlight. As a result, when I looked in the mirror this morning, my face was slightly flushed—not sunburned, just a hint of redness. Someone even commented on Twitter, “You cycled all the way from the city to that temple places? Wow!”

Japan is said to have one of the highest numbers of national holidays in the world. I suspect this has to do with a cultural reluctance to take personal days off. Labor laws in Japan protect this right, of course, but in practice, it’s still often hard to exercise. Many people feel guilty taking a personal day while their coworkers continue working, even though no one explicitly criticizes them—it’s an internalized sense of duty. In my opinion, it is not extremely unlikely that that the government introduces these holidays partly to give people a guilt-free chance to rest.

During my youth, I experienced a deadly severe mental breakdown. When I tried to defend myself against harsh accusations like, “You’re just a useless braggart,” I was shouted down with a loud “Shut up!” The male making these accusations was a Japanese-traditional martial arts instructor, someone with a commanding presence that made arguing futile.

What helped me recover was a psychiatrist telling me, “You need to stop commuting entirely and switch to home rest. I can issue a medical certificate for leave if needed.” At the time, I wasn’t fully aware of it, but looking back, I realize that having professional validation from a mental health expert allowed me to break free from a harmful cycle of guilt.

In Japan, there’s a proverb, “Illness starts in the mind.” It’s often misunderstood. People may misinterpret depression as mere laziness or self-indulgence, leading to even greater suffering. I suspect this cultural misunderstanding is one reason Japan has such a high rate of death from overwork (karoshi).