My third brush with depression is just about over. If my memory is not failing me, the first was in 1992, and the second in 2002 or 2003. Perhaps there were earlier ones, but this is the third one I am aware of. Sitting and staring. No feelings. No wishes. No hope. Everything becomes meaningless. There is no reason to move a finger. Indifference reigns supreme. Life becomes an empty shell. Nothing makes any sense whatsoever. And the reason for such dips is always the same. The woman I love is my only bridge to the human species. The stronger my love, the stronger the bridge. When it suddenly collapses, no matter why and how, and no matter for how long, I find myself drifting. I find myself rudderless and carefree. Luckily, my third brush with depression turned out to be the mildest, as well. It did not take me long to recognize it as such, either. And I realized at once I should write it all down as soon as possible. My own therapy.