This Sunday, the New York Times Magazine has a feature story by writer
Daphne Merkin. She writes about her experiences with depression throughout her life.

DEPRESSION — THE THICK BLACK paste of it, the muck of bleakness — was nothing new to me. I had done battle with it in some way or other since childhood. It is an affliction that often starts young and goes unheeded — younger than would seem possible, as if in exiting the womb I was enveloped in a gray and itchy wool blanket instead of a soft, pastel-colored bunting. Perhaps I am overstating the case; I don’t think I actually began as a melancholy baby, if I am to go by photos of me, in which I seem impish, with sparkly eyes and a full smile. All the same, who knows but that I was already adopting the mask of all-rightness that every depressed person learns to wear in order to navigate the world?

I feel that she is long pass being fooled into thinking that she is her current state of mind. She has been observing her own depression for a very long time.

I'd like to know if others are equally as impressed by her story.

Sky