Even writing about it is hard.

Depression. What a bastard. 

Depression is a bit like pain. It’s really hard to imagine feeling it. And if you’re feeling it, it’s really hard to imagine not. Depression IS pain. A pain of the soul, the heart, the mind, the part of us that lives? What is it that’s hurting, when we have depression? Is it the part of us that makes us human? We are fabulous and strange beings, complicated and convoluted, all so similar and all so very different. We create with our minds, everything, the World as we see it, and we are social beings totally dependent on each other, but we are malformed in some way, programmed to conflict, addicted to love but forever afraid of it, needing of each other but competitive to death, compassionate but merciless, ruthless and selfish, disconnected and in dire need to not be so. We are strange, so very strange.

It’s perverse that governments, including our own, should hold mental health so far down the list of important things. It should be at the top. Are politicians so disconnected they fail to even see this? Are they unfeeling? Are they?