So I wrote that I'm not suffering from severe depression like Robin Williams and that I don't even consider myself depressed. After I wrote that, I was out and about and realized how problematic those statements are. They're not untrue, but they're definitely not true. Part of me even thought those statements ridiculous.

Looking at the totality of my life (which only I can do) and my life philosophy (what I express), I'm OK with the idea of the possibility that I have severe depression.

Severe depression doesn't necessarily mean being always down, and includes meaning profoundly down. Robin Williams appeared to be up a lot in public, and I don't think he was hiding anything, but his depression was profound. It wasn't about being up or down, but the "depression", whatever it is, was a kind that was very deeply ingrained.

"Whatever it is". It's not necessarily depression, which implies down. Maybe it's more of some life trauma that affects a person's life but doesn't manifest all the time. The trauma could've been an early event that tainted one's ability to see the world any other way.

If you believe in reincarnation and karma, it can be something that had "carried over". That explanation would be, conveniently, for people who could absolutely not identify something in this life that would qualify as the trauma.

If this is in any way accurate, who knows what it was for Robin Williams? For me, parts may be karmic, but just in this lifetime it's very easy to point to my upbringing as a source of "lifetime trauma". Along with whatever karma, my childhood experience developed into a worldview whose bottom line was I didn't want to be here.

It affected everything. I evolved and developed and learned, but fundamentally that worldview or personal view affected everything. A lot of rolling with the punches went along with remembering I don't even want to be here. Even to not living a normative life or getting married or raising a family goes back to that. 

I attribute my ability to say I'm not depressed to mindfulness practice. It also contributes to my appreciating being here (non-depressed perspective), all the while not wanting to be here (ground state).

I think in some ways, mindfulness practice can erase a lot of psychological considerations. I admit I considered myself a head case for many years. Mindfulness practice is training to not get caught up in psychology and the games the mind can play with oneself.

It trains you to constantly watch and gauge yourself and catch yourself when something doesn't make sense. With the added teachings of wisdom and compassion, you try to assess things unselfishly and if other people are involved, with their viewpoint in mind.

So for me, a lot of psychologically based reactions have gotten thrown out the window because I realize they're not based on wisdom and ultimately not what I want for myself or others.

Like being angry at my parents. I still get angry at them (psychology), but I don't react to it and I just watch my own anger (mindfulness). I know that reacting based on anger is not going to bring results I want. I don't care how angry I am or have been at them, I don't want them to suffer now because of something I say. Making them suffer is not going to contribute to my happiness.

Same with depression; how I can say I'm not depressed and then realize that's a problematic thing to say? The feeling can come up, but then instead of "getting depressed", getting caught up in it, I watch it and point my finger at it and identify it as depression, and the depression gets a little embarrassed and slinks back a bit knowing I caught it.

Mindfulness practice also works against habitual behavior which also has a psychological basis. I watch family members acting out of habit, caught up in habitual behavior, and I apply that to myself, too. I watch what I do and if it's something I'm having a doubt about, like buying something for example, I'll ask myself if I'm just buying it out of habit or not. Unfortunately, that's just scratching the surface. Habitual behavior I'm caught up in goes so deep I probably can't even recognize I'm stuck within it.