We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Confessionals like this one can sometimes help those people blessed with sunny dispositions to have some understanding of those unfortunates without such dispositions.
Depression is real. It is as tangible as steel if you suffer from it. It is an unbearable sensation of desperation and awfulness. There are drugs that can make it go away. If you suffer, try them. Balance your humors. Life is a whole lot better that way. Better living through chemistry, as they say.
If you have never had the black plague of depression you are a lucky soul and it is understandable that you don't understand.
The Lord must love depressives. He made so many of them.
Of course, matterovermind is mostly correct. On the other hand, if you can manage to keep the suicidal thoughts at bay, depression can be a useful state of mind. For instance, depression gives you a different, but equally valid, perspective of the world. Just because it is dark and dreary doesn't make it useless or uninstructive. Most of our reality should probably be viewed through a glass darkly, to be observed accurately. Plus, depression can open up new paths for your creativity. It is wonderful for deep, tortured and extended self examination. Writers depend on it. Painters live on it. Poets can't exist without it. I can't say I'm in favor of clinical, chronic depression. But, I can say it is a required part of the balance. Extreme depression is to be avoided. Suicide is messy and sort of final. Which, as mentioned above, is where pills and therapy come in handy.
Controlled depression? Man, you've never been clinically depressed, have you? There is no control. It is a totally bleak existence painted in sparrow gray and jet black.
It is on you like a wet cloak that you cannot shuck. It's hard to be creative when you don't want to get out of bed and thoughts of death dance merrily around in your head.
Depression gives one a distorted view of this sordid world. It robs one of their objectivity and replaces it with a subjectivity generated from the trough of a sine wave. Beauty is no longer possible.