May be worth mentioning I am not feeling nearly as sure of myself as I was when I wrote that diatribe; it's never really clear whether that's because I feel particularly low now, or that I felt unusually sure of myself then. I suppose in reality I am looking for objectivity where none can be.

I wanted to talk about a metaphor which occurred to me as I was walking in the park the other day. It felt strangely liberating to walk in the park, as if I had never realised before that I could leave my desk and go outside and go wherever I wanted. I thought about depression as being like this transparent jar that you are trapped underneath, suffocating, cut off from everybody and everything. Only if the jar is taken away - you will never know. As far as you know, you are always trapped, there is no way out.
As far as everybody else is concerned, there is no jar at all and never was. Why doesn't she just come out, they think. Why doesn't she just come out into the sun?