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I think I gained some insight into this condition yesterday. I suppose its definition is nebulous at best and, like most things that approach through a fog, its shape and nature remain elusive. Yet I cannot help thinking that, if you are standing in your garden on a sunny bank holiday evening, having spoken with people you care about in the previous hours, and find yourself weeping for no reason you can identify, that must fall within the  boundaries of that ‘undiscovered country.’

My life has been stressful in recent months, for reasons that those close to me know. Yet even I was taken aback by just how much I must have been keeping the lid on my emotions. My tears continued through the following hours. How traditionally British I must have been in recent times, suppressing much of what has been eating at my well-being. I don’t suppose that will change.

It did make me realise just how much worse my state of mind would have been without a handful of close friends. It would be very British of me now not to mention them by name for fear of causing them, and me, embarrassment. But Geoff, Sabrina, Dean and Ken, you have all been the true friends, listening to me rambling on about my problems and diverting me from the path of self-pity. I thank you for that – very truly.

What a man-trap depression is. I have recently been feeling better about myself. I shudder to think how last night would have felt if I had still been inhabiting that pit of self-hatred and guilt, where I have found myself of late. I have only just scrambled away from the muddy lip of that well of stagnant water. I have no intention of returning, but do I have the final say in that? Perhaps last night will prove to be a necessary giant stride away from there. I guess time will tell.


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