Some of my favorite bloggers write about depression in a clear way that speaks to a lot of people (Bloggess, Hyperbole, etc.). In high school, I totally loved Sylvia Plath. I felt drawn to troubled, tortured souls, like Edger Allen Poe and Vincent Van Gogh.
I found a suicide note of my father's once while doing laundry; he got very depressed after his first heart attack and I spent many late, late school nights talking to him to make sure he didn't ... leave me. There where whispered rumors that he'd gone to a psychologist in his 20's for multiple personality disorder. Crazy, huh.
Sylvia Plath's husband burned her final journal because he didn't want her children to read it. I imagine she wrote terrible things about how she she felt about them, that were totally true at the moment and once written, once exorcised out on paper, were controllable. But it would be impossibly hard to read that your mother hated you and not conclude that she always did.
Love is not an emotion. Love is some kind of energy of it's very own kind. As far as I can tell, it doesn't go away.
Science and Psychology refuse to consider silliness like spirits and souls ... one of my favorite scientists, Nicola Tesla probably knew more about energy than anyone. He was amazingly brilliant. He experienced voices ...
I don't know what causes depression ... I think the chemical imbalances are a symptom, not a cause; like a runny nose doesn't cause your cold, it's the result of having a cold.
What I really believe, down in my soul, is that "creative" people are in tune with unseen forces. That connection inspires beauty, humor, and compassion, but leaves us vulnerable to emotional torture as well.
So I cling to my motto: Emotions are temporary.(Hmm, that was pretty rambly and all over the place ... maybe it needs some pictures ...)