Will I be able to play the piano?

It's usually not a lot of fun to be around people who have depression. Not that they (I) will dominate the conversation by moaning about how bad things are, although that can happen. More often, though, the person with depression is like this little dark star in the room, inhaling all of the light, energy, and oxygen in the room. So, it's no wonder that, after a while, people back away.

I'm certainly blessed to have family and friends who are not like that, who stay close and who keep bringing buckets of joy. I'm deeply grateful. I'm also aware, however, of who's not around. For example, I've not heard from anyone from the company I left in the spring. I've tried to keep people posted, but, after three or four tries, I've let it go. (Well, sort of. I wouldn't be writing if I'd let it go completely.)

So, is this a chance to feel sorry for myself? Probably. But, it's also a recognition of some facts:

• Being out of work changes things. I see fewer people and have even fewer chance or casual contacts.
  
• I get lonely.
  
• Some people don't know how to react to someone who has an illness. The old nemesis, perfectionism, steps in and freezes people. ("I don't know what the best thing to do is, so I'll do nothing until I figure it out.")
• Even in good times, I'm not always a social person.
  

The medical treatments that I receive aren't likely to change much of that which is the core me. Some of the talk therapy, notably CBT, might. In any case, people change, but not much.

This thread started when I read a couple articles:

• Shrink Rap: Let Me Tell You About My Illness


• Patients with more chronic lifetime depression histories, and those with multiple depressive episodes, may be particularly vulnerable to reduced support via a gradual erosion of emotionally fulfilling relationships with family and others.