See, Bagpuss, that's what bugs me. People who have never been clinically depressed have absolutely no idea what it's like. They don't know what it's like to cry every single minute you are alone, trying to hide it from everyone around you. And not just for one day, or two... but for a year. Every day for a year. At least. They don't know what it's like to go to bed EVERY NIGHT and not care if you wake up in the morning. They don't know what it's like to feel like absolutely nothing in the world matters, and that everyone would be so much better off without you... heck, they probably wouldn't even notice if you just vanished into thin air.

They ask, what's wrong? And you can't tell them what's wrong, because you don't know. It isn't one thing, or two things, but a whole fucking pile of things that have crashed down onto your head, a mountain so large you can't even begin to excavate yourself from it.

I'm not talking about having a bad hair day. I'm not talking about being in a bad mood because you had a fight with someone close to you. I'm talking about absolutely not caring one whit if you live or die.

And the despair that I have experienced doesn't even touch what others have been through. My depression is mild compared to some.

Thanks to counseling and Prozac, that little Gollum voice that says "you don't have any friends - nobody likes you" is very, very faint nowadays. I look forward to things.

I have love in my heart again.