On depression, again

It's not that I don't "feel" like a normal person; I do. I feel what I can now identify as happiness, sadness, joy, love, hate, anger, etc.. For most of my life I couldn't, but thanks to a concerted effort over the past few years I've opened up somewhat and acknowledged that which makes us human, or at least not lungfish.

But even now, knowing what those emotions are and knowing when they're appropriate, I still have trouble connecting them with my demeanor; I don't express them with any ease. They feel distant, abstract. They're like objects in a fog; I know there's something there, but I can't tell what it is.

One of the major signs of depression is a feeling of joylessness; everything becomes rote, done out of necessity instead of pleasure. Life feels bland and gray. This has been my existence for much of my life. I don't mean to paint a bleak portrait; I've had a good life, with an incredibly loving, supportive family. But I view the highs of love and success as abnormal; breaks from the tedium, I suppose.

I have felt, and still at times do feel, suicidal. I know it's been called the coward's way out, but those who speak of it without knowing the relentless drudgery of worthlessness and shame can, frankly, go fuck themselves. It's but one of many answers to an open-ended question; "What's the point?"

I'm still looking for that point. I don't know if I'll ever find it, but I'm willing to hang in there for awhile yet. Maybe I can help people who, like me, feel out of place in a world that does not and cannot give a damn.