Winter/Depression

Depression is an unpleasant part of BP. (What part of BP is pleasant?!)
My winters start in late September, when the days get noticeably shorter and the night is noticeably longer. 
Winter ends some time in late March or early April. 
That's a long time, a long road, to walk on "vile clay" in fog. 
(Each year I hope to beat it.) 

Depression also comes from lack of expression, which is why I'm blogging this.

What depression feels like:

    We Wear the Mask
    Paul Laurence Dunbar, 1872-1906    


    WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
    It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
    This debt we pay to human guile;
    With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
    And mouth with myriad subtleties.
    
    Why should the world be over-wise,
    In counting all our tears and sighs?
    Nay, let them only see us, while
            We wear the mask.
    
    We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
    To thee from tortured souls arise.
    We sing, but oh the clay is vile
    Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
    But let the world dream otherwise,
            We wear the mask!

I mostly "wear the mask that grins and lies... And mouth with myriad subtleties."
It's sad.  
It's unauthentic. 
It feels safer than to tell people, "My heart is torn and bleeding.  I don't know if I want to live for another day." 

The truth is hard, even for me, to admit and accept.

So, "How am I doing," you ask. Fine. Just fine. (I'm practised with those "subtleties.")
Are you, is the world, concerned about my "tears and sighs?"  Do you really want to hear it?
How will you respond if you know the truth?

    I smile, but, O great Christ, my cries 
    To thee from tortured soul arise. 
    I sing, but oh the clay is vile 
    Beneath my feet, and long the mile; 
    But let the world dream otherwise, 
            I wear the mask!
Depression also comes from lack of expression, which is why I'm blogging this.