Monday, December 23, 2013

The Sorrows of Young Werther (extract)

"God knows I often retire to my bed wishing (at times even hoping) that I might never wake up; and in the morning I open my eyes, see the sun once again, and am miserable. Oh, if only I could follow some mood and blame the weather, or a third person, or failure in some enterprise; then the intolerable burden of my discontent would trouble me half as much. Woe! I feel all too clearly that the blame lies solely with me - No, not the blame! - It is enough that the source of my wretchedness lies within myself, as the source of all my joys once did." -  The Sorrows of Young Werther, Goethe.
Depression is a strange condition. It can lack a direct cause and an obstacle for which help can be sought and struggled against and overcome; nothing to discuss with a friend or a professional. Like a physical disease it saps the strength needed to recover, spiraling you deeper into self-destructive inactivity and introspective solitude.

A person can heal depression alone, shrugging it off like a troublesome cold. Sometimes medical help is needed. Sometimes a person stubbornly but joylessly trudges through life. Sometimes they give up.

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