I often find myself reflecting at night,
Thinking about this diagnosis I try to pay no attention to while the sun is up.
And sometimes I’ll slip and think,
“Well, of course. Anyone with my life would be depressed.”
But I know that’s wrong.
I have so much.
I’ve been given so much.
I’m so fortunate for it all.
The unfulfillment and self-loathing and all these thoughts are separate,
For I recognize my life as good.
So then I rephrase.
“Well, of course,” I’ll think.
“Anyone who thinks the way I do–anyone with a brain that works like mine would be depressed.”
And then I start to get it.