July 23, 2021:
In ordinary circumstances the major artifact of depression is difficulty bouncing back from objectively minor setbacks.
Over the last weeks an employee at the local post office has been rude to me. She's snide, superior. And impatient, as though my existence in the universe was god's way of annoying her personally. I understand perfectly well the combination of parochialism and narcissism which drives her behavior. You see it all the time in the business world. Still I find myself avoiding interactions with her, to the point where I'll postpone trips to the PO box simply to give her a miss. In the end I've decided to close that PO box, in part because it's impractical, in larger part because being browbeaten and condescended to by a smug rural bureaucrat is having unmistakable impact on my well-being.
Bupropion had helped. It provided a floor, or a safety net, below which I seldom fell. And it added a boost, small but noticeable, to my energy level. I liked it. I felt more the way I once did, before the depression moved in and set up house. Not perfectly restored, but better. Without it I sleep more, and worry more, and avoid the post office because the woman there hurts my feelings.