You really can't appreciate the world in which a depressed person lives until you have truly experienced depression yourself.
Its well beyond simply feeling low. It crosses over to an outright exquisite feeling of despair, from which you never WANT to leave. It starts simply with a trigger, an inconsequencial event that unlocks the deluge, collecting decades of unresolved sadness, burying you in them like a thick, dark never-ending blanket of self-pity, self-loathing, and self-destruction.
It makes sense that only people at puberty or older can experience it, you need a good 10 years of dissapointments to be able doubt your entire existence.
You don't 'solve it' - depression - or 'deal with it' or 'snap out of it', because it can't be rationalized or reasoned with to be solved. It doesn't go away. It simply let's you go when it has nothing more to take from you, with no more warning than when it overtook you.
Its it own drug really. An abyss from which escape is not just useless, but pointless, and where the artificial construct of 'humanity' no longer hold's sway and you are reminded how volatile the human experience truly is.
Not many people will ever quite appreciate it. It takes a specific mind to truly get depressed, in as much as it takes only a specific mind to truly fall in love. Perhaps the two afflict the same fools.
Like all profound emotions, I can only describe it as a form of temporary madness... for already mad people. I dare say, the ordinary will never experience love as it has defined by Poets. So too, the ordinary will never experience true depression.
It requires at least ONE loose screw for the machine to simply act out in that fashion.
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