Sometimes, I just want to lie down and not get back up. Other times, I want to punch people in the face really hard, like Clark Griswold punched that moose at Wally World.
But then, something snaps me out of it, and I get up and keep it moving. I guess I'm lucky that way. I'd like to think that I have guardian angels somewhere looking out for me, and pulling me up and out of my funk. My own personal demon fighters.
I don't know anything about clinical depression, or the like, but I'm fairly familiar with that regular old-fashioned shade of blue that comes to everybody, at some time or another, for some reason or another; even if it's in private, where nobody ever sees it.
I admire people who manage to put on a happy face, no matter what demons they're battling inside. I admire people who can walk on sunshine and be a light to others, even when they may be in some foggy, dark place of their own. People like that inspire me to be a better person, to build a better armor. I'm not quite on that level, because I will cuss you slap out, if you strike the right nerve, even if unwittingly. My valleys are rarely peaceful. They are usually a giant, stinky mess, but I am working on it.
All that to say this: I don't trust people who say that they NEVER get the blues. If you're not battling demons, you probably are the demon.
It's one thing to not show the world that you're down, but it's a whole other thing to be an arrogant, non-empathetic fuck, who goes out of your way to make people feel worse for being human, as if you're not human.
Shut the hell up.