In a week that Trump was declared fit for duty, we hit peak pointlessness with spineless books
Monday
Today is Blue Monday, the day – according to some bogus equation involving the weather, debt and time since Christmas divided by low motivational levels – when people are most likely to be feeling depressed. While anything that raises awareness of mental health issues can’t be all bad, equating depression with feeling a bit glum doesn’t really help that much. If depression was date sensitive it would be a lot easier to deal with. I could just pre-book myself into a psychiatric ward and have done with it. One of the most pernicious parts of my depressive episodes is that they are impossible to call in advance. Right now, my mood levels are low and my anxiety levels are sky-high; even going up the road to buy a paper, that I normally manage without a second thought, seems like a big deal. The problem is that there have been many times in the past when I have felt like this and have come through relatively unscathed, and others when I have gone on to a proper depression. After more than 20 years of this, I am still no clearer which outcome is the more likely. So all I do is keep talking about it, keep taking the medication, keep going to the gym, keep trying to remember to socialise and keep muddling on.
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