Depression is the great clarifier. It brings you resolutely and firmly into the present moment. You don’t want to think about the happier times because it depresses you that you’re not happy. You don’t want to remember the crappier times because that just sends you deeper into the muck and the mire. You can’t think about the future because you don’t believe you have one. You are, quite simply, rooted to the now; sitting in it, entirely breathing, thinking, feeling, fucking, hating, experiencing the absolute reality of the moment you’re in. Right now. Yeah, the now, the point of power.

Powerfully awful and true and authentic and real. And happening. The only way to get through it is to feel it, however agonising or, conversely, numbing it is. So I am. So much so that I have to write in the second person. To own this, all this that I’ve just written would be too much. It’s enough that I’m present.

It’s almost a gift, in a way. That presentness. Almost.

Aside

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