It’s not a case of the passing blues. It is indescribable. There are no words for it.
And the words that are used to describe it are inadequate. Words:
Independently or collectively, these words cannot express. It’s common knowledge that William Styron suffered horribly from depression. His 84-page memoir “Darkness Visible” both brought to light his intimate experience with it and gave word to an excruciating dis-ease that defies description, nee language. That work in its totality is available online at no cost at many sites, including this one: https://archive.org/stream/DarknessVisiblewilliamStyron/123144___william_styron_-_darkness_visible_–_a_memoir_of_madness#page/n1/mode/2up
I haven’t much to add other than I struggle deeply very deeply with it and appreciate Styron’s remarkable efforts to describe his experience and share it with the world. It is more than I can do in the throes and depths of depression.
Depression, for me, silences everything save its own voice that feeds on self-destruction and an underlying urge for oblivion that’s rooted in my relationship with my mother who wanted more than anything to cast me into oblivion. She would have if she could have.
I’ve nothing more to say.