Ducks on the wind

Tonight I had to take one of those little tests doctors give you every couple of weeks to see how you're doing, and I answered honestly, as usual. "A little on the depressed side, I see," she said. And yeah, I am. I do have all the symptoms of depression, minus the planning to kill myself thing. I'm feeling tearful, sleepless, not hungry, irritated at myself, not interested in things, etc, etc. I do sometimes have trouble when I'm on the metro. I think about jumping in front of the trains, or pushing someone else, depending on how I'm feeling. I usually either stand really far from the platform, or stand on the edge and let the wind from the oncoming train push back my hair.

That's what I was doing tonight. I stood there at the edge, listening to the rumble of the train coming into the station, and thought about timing. How late would you have to jump to go under the train, not into the window. But I never thought of doing it - it's just an intellectual enterprise. Again, a test I wouldn't think to do. But I did close my eyes when the train was upon me and let it grab my hair and sweep it back from my face.

There were ducks in the park again. The park between the metro and the therapist has a flock of ducks that live in it, apparently. Every week they are just hanging about, looking like they're about to settle in for the night. They wander about the length of this small park and quack almost in unison. Ducks don't seem to mind the cold or anything else, for that matter. They just waddle a bit when you are closing in on them, but they don't run, they're not scared. I wonder what it would be like to be a duck? I'm sure ducks don't get depression for no reason. I bet ducks in cages get depressed, but anything living in a cage must at some point hate it's life.

I don't hate my life. I don't hate myself. I'm just depressed.