My depression used to be ‘attractive’. When I was young, slim, and vibrant, being sad was a magnet for people who wanted to ‘heal’ me and make me smile. Now I’m fat, old, and alone (self-imposed isolation, I admit. But it’s hard to get out of the pattern), it’s much less attractive to people. Who cares about the stupid, middle-aged, fat old failure? She made her own bed by not getting better when we tried to help. Let her get on with it – she isn’t young and pretty anymore, she ignored us when we tried: her depression is now irrelevant. Happy Made-Up-For-Commerce-Pretend-Lovers Day. I’ll be spending it trying not to think about certain people who broke my heart because I wasn’t good enough for them.