De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine.
Out of the depths I have cried to Thee, O Lord.
I am depressed.
I've written in various forums for four years about Dee's depression - how it made our life together so empty for sixteen years - how the meds she's taken since being diagnosed with it make such a remarkable difference. And yet, I sit here during my own times in the doldrums refusing to seek medical relief, telling myself that if I just hang in here long enough the gray clouds will lift and all will be well. Historically, I know I'm right. My own stretches of depression are usual precipitated by specific events and when I'm able to work through them in my head till they make sense in some way, I come out of the fog okay.
Sometimes, though, I wish there were a magic pill. Oh, there is. Dee takes one every day. But I don't think, in my case, that a pill is worth taking because until things in my topsy turvy brain are right-side up again, no pharmaceutical treat however yummy will change things, make them any different, make them any better.