When it's not your own?
I'm not saying that I don't have days where I'm depressed. Actually, I probably am. But I'm getting by and I have so much I have to deal with that I don't want to think about myself right now. Caring for Little Man, keeping on top of his EI appointments, keeping the house neat-ish, walking the dog, being a good wife... then there's my mother and my brother.
Both of them are clinically depressed. There's a lot to their situations. Too much to get into here. And, since this is a public blog that (maybe) people who actually know me read, it's not my place to say more. But I am very worried about both of them.
I wish life were easier. I wish I could wave a magic wand and erase their pain. Cure Parkinson's. Cure chronic pain. But I can't. And I can't help people who reject my help either through tears or anger.
There are days when mothering a whiny (from possible two-year-molars, I don't know) toddler is the EASY part.