My depression *may* be easing a bit. I'm seeing some indicators (that I tend to track both going into, and coming out of, depressive cycles) that this, the deepest depressive cycle I've had since before I married Gloria, and the longest in my entire life, might (might!) be coming to an end. (Now I have to consider whether this is because of the newest drug, whether this cycle is *finally* coming to a long overdue end, whether this is a blip, or whether, in my cognitive impairment, I am misreading the signs.)
One of the indicators is that I am becoming annoyed with the mental health professionals. In the depths of depression, you generally don't have the energy to be peeved with people: you just try to have enough energy to go along with things. But now I'm getting irked by the facility of some of the suggestions or responses: after all, while I don't have a lot of the medical and even psychological training that these folks have, I *have* had a deeply personal motivation to research and study this condition since before most of them were born. (Recently I taught the shrink one of the reasons that depressives, the bereaved, and similar mental conditions have trouble with most holidays; a factor she had never considered.)
I'm trying to take what they say seriously, and not fight against them, but I keep remembering the title of an editorial from long ago: "The Danger of Simple Answers."
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