Older, but no wiser

I suppose this might be depression. Of a sort; perhaps with a small ‘d’ rather than a big ‘D’, as it were. I’m not sure exactly where it sits on scale from being merely fed up to being truly clinically depressed, except to say that it feels as though it’s maybe hovering somewhere around the midway point and moving closer to the latter than the former. The periods of occasional fed-up-ness have grown and merged; no longer just a part-time feature but a continuous state which colours everything, dawn to dusk and even it feels in sleep, and from which nothing seems able to extract me, even temporarily.

Even now though, something in me revolts at the idea. No; not me; I don’t do depression. I’m positive, right? Optimistic, always finding a silver lining to every cloud, glass half full, always looking on the bright side. Trouble is, bright sides are getting harder and harder to find.

This is all totally irrational of course. There’s no logical reason for feeling this way; on the scale of things, any clouds on my horizon are mere wisps of stuff that the sunshine ought to have no difficulty dispersing. So why do I allow them to hang over me like thunderclouds?

I have got to snap out of this.