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I have always struggled with some form of depression. This is not a secret to anyone who knows me. And, it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who reads my blog (all five of you) because I write about it often. I guess that may have been what facilitated yet another post about it, seeing as how today’s thoughts are about how many depressed posts I’ve been writing lately. It makes me wonder if it’s simply having a method of tracking them that makes me more aware of how many “bad” days I have compared to good. Alternatively, it could also be that my commitment to writing something every day has plucked the common denominator from the “write what you know” category down to the root of my underlying mental illness.

And, to be honest, some days I feel that I am very mentally ill. I mean, truly, who could have all the good things that I have in my life and still be so terribly unhappy at their core? Then of course, I feel tremendous guilt for feeling such unhappiness, because I shouldn’t feel so unhappy, and the cycle repeats itself ad infinitum until I can barely function. It usually ends with me collapsed into a lump on the floor, unable to move under the cloud of self loathing and disgust that has settled over me.

It’s not to say that awareness hasn’t initiated some change. I have been seeing a therapist on a regular basis, far more so than previous attempts at “recovery” and there have been lots of changes. What I have not been able to change, however, is the fundamental core of my being that feels unreachable. In previous attempts to go through the “proper channels” to “get better” we have done the standard, therapy plus medication route. Medication does help, but in a way that pushes down my feelings or takes the sting out of the negative thoughts. Essentially, it removes the ability to give a fuck, and at some point, I wonder how much of a fuck I should actually be able to give.

As the sun rose on this morning and I began the tedious readying process for another day, I began to get lost in the existential crisis of the myriad varying human perspectives. How each person’s view point of the universe creates millions of tiny variations of the human experience, essentially millions of universes each a tiny kingdom unto themselves. And, where does mine fit in? Is it even relevant amongst all the others, and as jaded and sad as it is, does the universe really need another one? Questions posed to an empty room and of course, linger in the air unanswered until they fade and are forgotten.