It didn’t descend on me out of the blue, the way my depressions usually do. No, this time, there was some warning: I started feeling more and more lethargic. All I wanted to do was lie in bed and watch TV. Not “golden age of television” binge-worthy stuff, but embarrassingly stupid things I’d already watched a dozen times before, like old Star Trek episodes and the campy 1960s Batman series. My brain didn’t want to think, and my body didn’t want to move. I should have known.

The problem is, I have nothing to be depressed about. My life is going great—I’m in a new relationship that’s the healthiest I’ve ever known, and it’s a joy just to spend time with him. In fact, we’ve even started talking about marriage sometime in the future. For someone who’s had a string of non-committed men decidedly not proposing to me, it’s a sea change for the better.

Plus, my meds are keeping me stable; my therapy keeps me grounded. I have good doctors and a strong support system. I practice mindfulness whenever I can remember to do so. I exercise more than I used to and take care to watch my sleep and diet. These efforts have clearly paid off because I haven’t had a serious depressive episode in years.

So what gives?

I could sense it sneaking up on me, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it. First,........

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