I am pretty sure that I feel more strongly than most people. I can't really be sure, because I can't be in other people's heads, or feel what they feel, no matter how well they describe it to me. But, I think that what I feel, is outside the range of normal human emotions.

I know lots of people understand the deep, debilitating depression I have. But I feel that strongly in every direction.

I can be held paralyzed by a wave of buzzing, bubbling bliss, electricity sparking out of every pore and hair, and the shivering joy pulsing and rushing through me so fiercely, it feels like it will rip me apart. Colors are brighter, and everything is clearer, like looking through water. The air shimmers and glows.

God grabs ahold of my hair, pulls my head back, and tells me to be still and quiet.

But I shrug myself away, jumping up, tossing my hair, and laughing, because I have to move, or I'll scream. I'm tapping gleeful dances, and singing to strangers on the street; climbing lamp posts, newspaper stands, fences, and whatever else I can get my feet on; bouncing off of rocks, tree stumps, walls, and whatever else is low enough for me to jump onto. If I don't sway, and hop, and swing my arms, and flap and shake my hands, I'll explode into a hundred-and-eighty-three pieces, and bits of me will be on planets too far away for us to know.

On windy days, I climb to the tops of trees, wrap my arms around, lay my cheek on the rough bark, and hang on, or stand in alleys, to almost be knocked over by the tunnel of wind. I'm breathlessly enthralled by the veins of a leaf, or the patterns of water running in a gutter, or the reflections on skyscraper windows, or the shadows on the ceiling. Music stings me with its beauty, and I have to cry.

I can close my eyes, and make the world stop spinning, just for me. I can run up rainbows, shaking clouds out of my hair, and swinging from stars. I can make the sky quake when I sing, or pull it down with my fists.

Sweet Honey In The Rock sang this: "My God calls to me in the morning dew. The power of the universe knows my name."

People say to me, when they see me turning cartwheels on the sidewalk, or skipping down the street with sparkling eyes, and a goofy grin, that I must have just won the lotto, or gotten engaged. But, nope; this exhilarated exaltation seems to be normal for me.

...

I know from years and years of experience, that when I get depressed, all it takes to get me out of it, is exercise. I know this. I always have. Almost every time I get on my bike (or go dancing, rock climbing, take a long walk....), it sends me back into that dizzy, giggling, Tigger-bounding euphoria. Other things (not drugs; haven't tried them) can sometimes get me there too, but nothing else works as consistently.

But I like to ignore this fact, because I'm lazy. Even though I KNOW I will enjoy the exercise, almost as soon as I start, I can't seem to make myself get moving most days. It doesn't matter that I know I'll be in the mood after I get started. I'm not in the mood now. I want to go to sleep, wrap my pain and rage and sulking and apathy and self-pity around myself like a blanket, and feel better when I wake up, ready to leap out of bed, singing.

I had no problem taking a pill that gave me headaches, dizziness, shaky hands, a queasy stomach, and strange vision every day, in an effort to feel better. I wonder why I can't seem to make myself do something I love so much every day? When I was in college, I used to ride my bike literally everywhere. It was my only transportation, and I rode every day, wherever I went, rain or shine, snow or sleet. I loved it. I really loved it. What was different then; why can't I do that now?

I'm lucky. For many sufferers of depression, exercise is not enough. For many people, their depression cannot be fixed with medication, or anything else they try.

And I think that most people only get to feel the transcendent, radiant joy I feel regularly, a few times in their life, if ever.

How dare I feel sorry for myself.