Depression is weird. When you're in it, NOTHING has any savour, any colour, any reason or tone. Now, several years on from my last bout, I really can't remember the despair and feeling of it. I have what I wrote when I was working my way out but the actual nature of it is utterly lost; not forgotten, just not visible from here.
I have since found a good, good woman and mountain biking and a job I want to do so, with luck, it is gone for me. All the same, I think the difficulty of understanding other people's suffering is a part of it; their isolation is part of what makes them ill. That's why it's so important not to give up on people, even when they are in a real mess. Hence, good work, muddydwarf.