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DEPRESSION
Published on January 30, 2004 By Christopher Lewis Gibson In Blogging
I found this on Andrew Barnett's site. He found it on Antonio Savordin's blog, so this is sort of a third degree theft. But it's the good kind.

From Andrew Barnett's blog:

I found this beautifully executed piece -- I forget the path that led me there -- on Antonio Savoradin's blog.http://savoradin.com/ It's about the nature of depression. I might comment on it in a few days, or work it into a longer piece I have brewing. But for now I just wanted to put it up here, before I forget.

To quote:

Depression, probably the most obvious condition leading to suicide, is a prison filled with repeat offenders, and the crime of melancholia has a startling recidivism rate. But it is not a prison in which rights are respected, nor is humane treatment the standard fare. Rather, the jailer is a fickle torturer who punishes his charges without mercy. The depressed person inhabits a cell with a tiny window and iron bars, is beaten, burned, electrocuted, and flayed by the guards, left shivering and in pain, while relatives and friends may visit, blind to both the unbearable wounds he suffers and to the bars which hold him. Bewildered, they cannot understand why he doesn't rise and walk through the empty doorway; they do not understand his pain; and they may inflict guilt or further torture by sneering at his condition or offering pointless advice ("What's the matter with you? Just leave!") which only exacerbates his suffering. Because they do not see the bars, the walls, the jailer, the prison grounds, they cannot take his pain seriously. It is an enigma to them. They can give him little, if any, comfort.
Comments
on Feb 01, 2004
This is so true. I'm glad I was able to walk out that door. Or maybe i was dragged? No, I was PUSHED.

H
on Feb 09, 2004
I went to the nursing home today where I do hospice. Everything smelled like disentery and people were wandering around looking lost and confused. It made me think about the life and the youth that I possess, for the present, and the responsibility placed upon me to see the good in it.