On the Edge of Sadness—and Something Like Joy

The weather in my head resembles Chicago’s

©Steve_Gadomski via Canva

A friend responds to a missive, “You’re depressed and it’s warped your perceptions.” I pause to consider. This may be true – or not. How am I to know?

Depressed in this context does not mean clinically. Twice I’ve endured that diagnosis and it’s the worst. Grief paralyzes, you can’t sleep, you sigh for extinction. Some people it kills or permanently disables. I followed doctor’s orders and got over mine as one might the measles. If you’re prone to the disease, recurrence is likely. I shudder at the prospect.

Depressed here I take to mean blue, in the dumps, grim, glum, sad. This condition snags me often, sometimes several times daily. So does its opposite – elation, hilarity, delight – call it what you please – a giddy gratitude for now. So do countless temperamental gradations between. The weather in my head resembles Chicago’s: sunny to stormy to drab in an eyeblink.

Moody I might describe myself, though that adjective’s pejorative, suggesting grumpy, ungratefu…