Depression never feels to me like sadness. More like a gag in my mouth, a choking inhibition, like trying to run in a dream when you can’t get your legs to move. But as it melts away, it leaves a quite particular sort of sadness in its place. Everything seems sad. Not terribly unpleasant. Like walking through the ruins after a great storm–not quite awake. How sad, you think… everything so still… and broken. Then you begin to see people hurrying here and there… all so busy. At what? it all seems so strange. Why, one asks. What is it that makes them go? The connecting cords, like a knitting unraveled… pick them up, one a time, until you’re part of it all again. More alive… but less intensely conscious.