In the past, depression has taken things away. It has taken my enjoyment of art (several times), writing (also several times), photography, video games, to name just a few. But this one this year has taken away my enjoyment of reading. I still want to read, but when I pick up a book, I only get a couple of pages before I just can’t concentrate on it anymore. And it feels particularly cruel because reading was always a world I felt like I was allowed in. Even wanted. The characters in books let me get close to them, much closer than anyone in the “real world”. And now it feels like those worlds are just more that are closed to me.

Depression is a bastard. Medication and therapy resistant situational depression even more so.