I remember the first time I was depressed. Or rather, maybe it's the first memory I have of being depressed. I was five years old.
All of a sudden, I had discovered what death was all about. What is the point of everything?!
I couldn't sit still on a couch unless I was upside down.
Unable to sleep, I'd wander out of my room in the middle of the night, find the piano bench and sprawl over it.
When I was able to sleep I would wake up and lie there, not moving - even when my foot was protruding from the tangle of blankets and feeling quite cold.
What a mess I was.