I don't know if I'd meet the standard of being clinically depressed. Just down sometimes. Not much energy. Roam around Zity rather than mowing the lawn or reading a good mystery book which is something I can usually immerse myself in with great pleasure. I've even sat in a deck chair next to my boat on a lovely lake evening and not gone fishing.
This ho-hum affliction has been with me since I was a teenager. Mom was a nurse and like many moms back then a believer in the curative powers of an enema. If she felt my ho-hum was too much she'd say to me, “Tommy, I think you need an enema. Don't you?” This was not really opening a yes/no conversation. I would protest I didn't need an enema, I was just fine. She'd say I wasn't and a good enema would do me a world of good. There was no sense me protesting further. She'd decided. My protests were as much for show as real. I'd know I was down and I'd know the enema would perk me up. A small price to pay for being up.
Part of the benefit package was her taking control. Her deciding. Her telling me I was getting an enema, being ordered to the bathroom, told to remove my pants and bend over when the enema was ready, told she was sorry but the enema wasn't finished yet and she was going to give it all to me. She was caring, but very firm. “Stop fussing I said you were getting an enema, Tommy, and you're going to take it all …. yes, all. I'm going to open the clamp again. Take a deep breath. Relax. The soon it's all in the sooner it's over.”
Getting an enema, actually a soapy one and then a rinse enema, generally reset my mind computer back to factory default. Somehow cleaning the garbage out of my physical system also cleaned garbage out of my mental one. From being told I was getting an enema, through the process, I had no option but to do as I was told. There was no saying to the enema I was going to ignore what my guts were telling me and I was going to go back and flop down on my bed. The enema, along with mom, had taken control. It may be as simple as that 30/60 minutes when I wasn't in control, had no choice but to comply, that broke the cycle of down thinking.
When I got married my mother sent me off with new underwear and, over time, a package of Tommy Care Instructions for my wife. Perk up enemas were part of the package and to this day, several times a year, my wife will comment on my lack of energy and tell me she's going to give me an enema to fix me up. It still works as well as it did when I was a teenager.
If I was clinically depressed and a doctor ordered meds, I'd take them. cnmtman, if you think depression sucks try enemas for sure. First though, get going on those meds. I've been told they can take a month or so before any change is noticeable so get started.