Ah, lady-friend--Your meditation about depression and suicide reminds me of something you wrote in a little scrap of 1968 journal I have (somewhere here) in which you said there was "something inherently tragic in the nature of our love." That was what you were thinking on one of the good days....
I think the writer's vision tends toward the tragic because she is not as good as other people at non-seeing, at blocking out awareness of the suffering and loss that is everywhere, like the empty cans and bottles, the scraps of greasy paper scattered along the ground at an amusement park.
Others are content to stare at the colorful signs and the flashing neon. The writer sees what is just below the surface. The skull beneath the rosy flesh. Or not-so-rosy.
You are not writing a society column, about what the beautiful people are wearing this year. You are a war correspondent at the battle front.
Your simple continued existence, without sinking into numbness, is a triumph in itself.
Robert
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