It’s as if Julie can’t stop feeling bad about herself.
That’s the nature of depression, I suppose. Julie has lost faith. In her own
being. A total lack of confidence. And Julie doesn’t know how to be happy
again. Julie becomes a recluse. Goes upstairs. To her bedroom. And stares out
the window. Instead of seeing a beautiful lake, Julie sees a bleak and
unsettled tomorrow. Seeking relief. In a wine bottle. A depressant. Julie sinks deeper and deeper
into the abyss of despair. And here we are. Her so-called friends. Watching. Wishing we had the wherewithal. The
means. The words. The knack. The power. To make for a happy ending to the story
of Julie’s beleaguered life. I don’t get it. I’m stupefied. What are we all waiting for? --Jim Broede
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