I'm depressed. Eyes are stinging from unshed tears. Don't you dare say "cheer up." That's like telling someone with a broken arm to un-break it.
This is an infrequent occurence. In fact, I can't remember the last time I was depressed. I can remember some significantly negative situations in my life when I was depressed. Days in 1968, 1978, 1980, 1983, 1986, 1989, 1991, 1992... every one of these dates bears a sad trademark. Since then though, there haven't been horrific days.
But there's nothing to point at as a cause this time: No one died (thank God); no one left me; I have a job; I have a home; I can pay my bills; my family loves me. No cause. Just there--like an unwelcome and unexpected visitor. This isn't the kind of depression that would force someone to take to bed with a cover over her head. This is a "what's wrong with me" melancholia. Able to work, able to laugh, able to make others laugh. But sitting in my office with the door closed and the music going, my face hurts from not crying. I'll fix that when I get home.
And on the forums I frequent, people won't notice--unless they also read my blog.
People may be surprised that I--a stereotypical Pollyanna with a perpetual smile--might be depressed. Smiles hide a lot.
(I'm not allowing comments on this thread. I don't want anyone to be nice to me. And don't worry, I never have been and never will be suicidal. Just depressed.)