06 Aug 01

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Depression

I'm depressed.

People ask me why, as if there were a reason. Or they look at the things in my life that they know are not to my satisfaction and say they understand. But that's ridiculous.

People at large believe that you need a reason to be depressed. But that isn't so at all. I was happy a week ago, and nothing has changed between then and now. Nothing external, obviously.

I believe my depression is a biological thing.

Sure I can point to unsatisfying things. I have no means of income just now. My children and fiance are far from me, and I haven't any funds to be closer to them, if just for a little while. I have no territory that is my own. I feel singularly unproductive. These things were true last week. Hell, they were true last month, and I was not depressed.

I don't need this now. I have resumes to update and plans to write, projects to work on. I have plenty to keep my hands from idleness. But feeling this way makes me lethargic and tired. It's hard to hold my arms up. It's hard to hold an idea in my head. It's hard to create. It's hard to move, as though I'm encased in something gluey and thick.

It has to be something biological. How on earth can someone so blessedly loved as I am feel so lousy?

This isn't new. It comes back over and over. Simon and Garfunkel - hello, darkness, my old friend. 

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