And now, we return to our regularly schedule programming

For the last few days, I think I've done a pretty good job of writing upbeat, fairly stable and well thought-out blog posts. I would like to apologise profusely for this. I know that certain things are expected of me from my readers, and I have a reputation to maintain, and I feel like I have let you all down, but most importantly I have let myself down.

But don't worry - this post will be returning to the usual nihilism and angst that I know we all expect of me.

Today was a return to Guernsey, a return to work, a return to the crushing mundanity that I exist within. I naïvely suggested yesterday that I hoped I may have been able to bring home some positive feelings from my trip with me. I was wrong. Pretty much as soon as the plane's wheels hit the ground, I was sad again.

I feel like I write a bunch about the reasons behind why I feel depressed, but not so much about what it is actually like to be depressed, or at least to be depressed in the way I experience it. I suppose there is a layer of shame there, as a man I am conditioned not to talk about feelings such as these. But I am slowly losing my mind, so I would like to try and articulate my thoughts before I am unable to do so coherently.

I think the analogy I identify with most is that of being underwater. Not merely with your head below the surface though, deep down - hundreds, thousands of metres down. What little air you have left is being squeezed from your lungs. You would swim toward the surface, and the light - but it is dark, and in the tumult you no longer are sure which way is up. Your senses are failing you as your heart pounds, but in a bizarre sense, you are at peace as you accept your fate. You smile, not that anyone can see it. You feel the tightness in your head as your brain becomes starved of oxygen, your already limited vision goes fuzzy and your cognition slows to nought but a desperation to stay alive, as your heart pounds out its own funeral toll...

But death never comes. Or at least, it hasn't for me yet. Instead, you are trapped in this near-death limbo for days, weeks, months and years. Occasionally you inexplicably find a pocket of air and gasp to breathe, filling your lungs just long enough to carry on. They are like oases in the desert - fleeting and more likely grounded in your own delusions than reality. The pain you feel in those moments is truly indescribable to someone who has not experienced it themselves.

You still have to do your job while you're drowning, interact with your friends and family, buy groceries with which to feed yourself, shower and get dressed, go to the gym and write blog posts. In a way, doing all those things are what is keeping the air in your lungs and the oxygen in your bloodstream. But they do little to ease the pain.

I think the most difficult thing for me to admit is not that I feel like all that. It's how desperate I am to feel better - I want it more than anything in the world. The ever-euphemistic 'easy way out' seems more and more like the only way to finally end this pain, but I have endured for so long, and I am scared of that option too. Imagine going for a run, and knowing at the end there will be a great reward; a magical djinn has promised you all your worldly desires upon reaching your destination. At first you set off with great enthusiasm, but soon you begin to tire. Your feet hurt, you struggle for breath and you are dehydrated. The djinn didn't tell you how far away the destination was - only that if you stopped running then you would lose your reward. So you keep going. Eventually you have destroyed your knees, you're bleeding from your thighs, you suspect your feet are fractured, you are hallucinating delirious visions of naked ladies and chocolate fountains. You feel as if you cannot continue for much longer, or you will be altogether broken. But you must, because that is what the djinn dictates.

What would you do?