What I needed to lift my depression was to find something that gave me such an extreme amount of joy that no low mood could survive in its presence
One of the cruellest things about being depressed is that the things that used to bring you joy suddenly ring hollow. Favourite albums turn to muzak. Beloved foods taste dull. A snuggly couch session with Master & Commander: Far Side Of The World and all the Pizza Shapes you can eat might as well be gruel served on a concrete slab in front of Question Time.
This was, for many years, my more-than-occasional lot in life: I rode the (very boring, not very well designed) rollercoaster of depression from my late teens to my early 30s. I wrote a lot of dreary blog posts, half an aborted roman-a-clef, a handful of doleful “It happened to me” type articles about it, alienated a bunch of friends and lovers, and poured a lot of money into therapy.