I believe depression is real. It exists. But I can’t understand it.

It is so far from my experience that it’s hard for me to even conceptualize it. I’m always so neutral, so equanimous. It means I have no great highs but also no great lows. Though it’s hard to say because I’ve never been anyone else — but I never seem to get as ecstatic nor as excited as others get from time to time. Nor as deep in the doldrums. Or in any doldrums at all for that matter.

I’m an eternal observer. Because I’ve never known anything else, I like it that way.

Years ago, a friend of mine said to me, “You’re weird.”

“I’m weird? Yeah, I kinda know that.”

And she said, “If some guys came in here shooting this place up, I don’t think your facial expression would even change.”

“It depends on if they shoot me or not.”

“See? Weird…” she said.

Looking back, she knew me better than most people ever have I think.