Without caring who we are...

I just talked my best friend down from a ledge... on the phone... at least he's down... but I'm not there to give him a hug, to share some insights, to make him believe in himself. From where I am, I can only cheer him up, give advice, and hope. This blessed soul, better than a brother for so much of my life, at least the time when I've felt alive, short enough as that may be. When a man stops caring, stops loving himself, even in the smallest degree, stops wanting to look in the mirror for fear of the failure or manifestation of rage such a glance surely provides. When you walk into a room and don't want to talk to anyone, for fear of what they'll think, or if they'll know... Know what? Being unable to finish, using the same self-destructive mechanismsto break yourself down. And feeling alone. Perhaps depression at its root is loneliness, a self-imposed perception of your inability to share with others what you fear about yourself. The beauty of sharing lies in its innate ability to provide happiness, for in the act of sharing, if you view it the way I do, you give something you treasure to another, whether it be advice, love, or joy, and at the same time you partake as well. It is different than giving because in giving there is a measure of sharing, but you do not reap the same reward. You share a beautiful moment, but you can not give it, for sharing emobodies an experience affecting both people at the same time. It is more than just give and take.

I wish I could make my friend believe in his ability to share his own qualities, because then he would be believing in himself, and that is the true conquerer of depression. In the meantime I'm going to recommend to him some St. John's Wart, the poor man's antidepressant that the drug companies would rather you didn't find out about because if its strength and its lack of serious sideaffects. Man I love that kid, and he just needs to believe