Friday, February 2, 2007
This past holiday season I was laid down, sucker-punched, bled dry by depression. Though like all good Celts (50% here), I have been gripped by the odd phase of melancholia, this was different. This was out to get me. I have always had a measure of superior-minded disdain for people who suffer from depression. I mean really, why can't they just think positively? It was not until I had experienced my own heart-numbing brand of it, that I really understood and could feel a fuller sense of empathy for those people who share in this bleak dance.
Now that my bloodstream courses with cupfuls of fish oil, daily Same-E and B-vitamins, I find myself standing in the light again. Still, I'd like to clear all the corners, throw salt into them, and air out any remaining stale, dark drawers. So, I've decided to write about my depression here.
For the sake of clarity, I have named her Agnes --- derivation agony.