I recently went on a long vacation to my favorite place in the world. Pretty much everything went perfectly, I felt physically better than I had any right to feel at my age, I did things I wasn't sure I could do anymore, I was with fabulous people I adore--I had a wonderful time.

I can't remember being more unhappy.

It was wonderful. I was so aware of how amazing it was all turning out. And yet tears would be streaming down my cheeks.

I'd been in a deepening depression when I left, but the vacation was planned & paid for. I went. Everyone thought it would help, at least some. If anything I returned worse; if I was this miserable in these circumstances, I couldn't see that there was any hope. Meds so far have not helped.