I started seeing a therapist. I took this step because I've been having a bad time with depression since November . . . and it's been getting worse.

I've been in and out of depression all my life. Years ago, I got all kinds of treatment. I went to shrinks who prescribed a long list of different meds, most of which did nothing. I did therapy for years, though it never seemed helpful. I gave up on all that stuff. I figured it's really up to me to tough it out when I get depressed, get through it and move on. That was more or less working. But I'm in trouble now and can't seem to pull out of it.

So yesterday was my third meeting with this counselor. She's very nice, but I'm getting nothing out of these sessions. I hate sitting in this lady's office. I get there, and I can't wait to leave. I open up and talk honestly because I want to make this process work. I leave there just feeling worse.

My primary doctor referred me to a psychologist, whom I'll see in a few days. I have a strong feeling it's going to be a complete waste of time. I'll go. I figure - "What have I got to lose?" Might as well try everything. But I despair. I feel like I don't have words to describe how defeated and hopeless I feel. I don't like to get melodramatic, so I try to just relay the facts as plainly as I can. I'm very isolated, which is unhealthy. I know what I can do about that. I need to get out and get involved with other people doing something constructive. There's tons of stuff going on in my community. But I can barely get out of bed.

The thing is this: I think I come across as not having any big problem. Once I get up, get dressed and get out of the house, I believe I seem pretty normal. My life is not all that bad. I'm retired and there is no bad stress going on in my life. But I feel detached from the human race - like I'm a complete reject. When I contemplate joining some kind of group or activity, I dread going amongst other people to whom I am a stranger. I can force myself, but it takes time to get to know others. It takes patience. It's like you gotta invest today to reap a reward sometime in the distant future. I need to feel some easing up of misery now. That's not going to happen.

Talking about where I'm at, mentally, just makes me feel more miserable. I thought I was doing the right thing, when I finally made an appointment last month to tell my primary doctor that I'm not doing well. He didn't seem to take me too seriously. No one ever does. I think I come across as too competent to be falling apart inside. I'm starting to regret saying anything to anyone.

I wish I could take a more positive attitude. It's wrong to be negative about everything. All I look forward to is falling asleep at night. Constantly, I wonder if this will ever end, short of me dropping dead.

I'm afraid to tell the psychologist how bad this is. I figure he'll just look down on me as someone looking for pity.