The Diary of a Madman

As an occasionally creative person and sometime polymath I'm occasionally prone to the occasional bout of depression. It's one of those diseases that one doesn't really talk about, or comes with the stigma of somehow being 'weak'.

Admittedly the disease has it's drawbacks in terms of interactions with other people (or the complete lack of them) and the loss of any and all emotional response. The wanting to sit quietly in a darkened corner is a bit of a downer as well. Despite this, there is the occasional pay-off that comes with a sometimes preturnatural clarity of thought. Admittedly these flashes of self and external awareness are electrifying when they occur and they both illuminate and colour one's world-view.

Perhaps it's these moments of clarity that make depression worthwile; though they also make seeking, undergoing and receiving treatment a difficult thing (more on this in later posts).

Truthfully though depression is pretty booring. Whilst in this state one is pretty booring. It's a state of nullness of not wanting (or being able) to do anything. You're also booring from other people's perspective; mostly as you're a pain in the ass as you don't want to interact with anyone.

Only whilst coming out of depression (or in the associated jump to mainia) is anything interesting depicted. And it's only in this state that anything creative (such as the poem given here) can be generated.