I have always been mightily annoyed by the whole "two cultures" thing, the artificial distinction between science and the liberal arts. Indeed, I wrote a self-righteous letter to my college newspaper about the stupidity of saying that scientists and writers couldn't find common ground. I was a double major in computer science and English, and I knew it was the same mind studying and delighting in both. I saw no division in myself, which made me reluctant to accept that there might be a division for other people.

Last December I had a nasty reaction to prescription drug withdrawal and spent most of the month diminished. One of the many exciting effects was the complete disappearance of my computer/math mind.

I couldn't sustain a technical conversation with my husband. I couldn't calculate how many hours there were between 11AM and 3PM. I couldn't read and understand software specifications.

But I could write. I could articulate sweet syllables together. I could construct filks that duplicated Sondheim's complex rhyme schemes. I could write, and sell, an essay about my daughter's Christmas pageant, my first writing sale in 7 years. That part of my brain was up, humming, and ready for action.

SurPRISE!

I'm not the captain. I'm a passenger, just as much as my tendons, my follicles, or my sinuses. I don't control what I think, and I don't control my reactions to the vicissitudes of life. I can, to some degree, control my second thoughts, but not my first.

Depression isn't sorrow. Depression isn't "the blues". Depression isn't that feeling you get on a rainy day that life is not much fun. Depression is the inability to feel pleasure or anticipation. It's your visceral reaction to events—perceiving the bad implications rather than the good. It's waking up in the morning and finding yourself unable to make any decision, even about what to have for lunch.

Ironically, clinical studies have shown that depressed people have a more accurate view of the world. Healthy people tend to see things as better than they are; depressed people go to the unpleasant truth. And then stay there.

Willpower doesn't really enter into it, any more than willpower heals a broken leg. Depression is in some sense a disease of the will, of perception, of the conscious mind. If you were capable of performing acts of will, you wouldn't be depressed.

"From perfect grief, there need not be
Wisdom or even memory – Dante Gabriel Rossetti, "The Woodspurge"

So, what have I learned? The "I" that I think of as the real me is only a part of the whole. There are forces in my brain that I do not and cannot control. Therapy only goes so far. Dependence on SSRIs is no different from dependence on thyroid supplements, arthritis drugs, or blood pressure medications. The need for any medication can be lifelong, and is at best a compromise. If you aren't functioning, you do what you can to ameliorate the problem.

What Te Said. I'll wait here while you read it.

Characters, in fiction and in real life, exist within a web of relationships. John loves Jane, condescends to Mark, respects and admires Susan but isn't her friend. Even when you're completely under that first limerant spell, there are other people in your emotional life, people who matter as much as your romantic lead.

Presumably you're writing fanfic because you like the show/movie/band in question. At least, I hope so. In that case, why don't you respect the characters? If you're writing a relationship not found in the show, there's a very good chance that another character is in your way. It is possible to remove that character without announcing that s/he's a selfish bitch who is completely unable to appreciate the ineffable wonderfulness that is your protagonist.

Romantic relationships don't always end because one partner is a blind, sadistic wretch who is unworthy. (Except for mine, that is. All my exes showed appalling bad taste, and will surely be punished at the Dreadful Day of Judgment. But I digress...) People move on because they're tired, because the relationship stops being fulfilling, because they have fallen desperately for somebody else.

Which brings me around to Buffy. Buffy isn't just the show's title character, she's a Hero. Which means, unfortunately for her, that her Duty often has to take priority over her emotional life. But that doesn't make her the selfish bitch who so often shows up in fanfiction. Sure, sometimes Buffy drifts away from her friends; however, the show always portrays this as a serious mistake, not as the inevitable consequence of her self-centered eviltude. Estrangements are followed by admissions of wrong, which are followed by reconciliations.

99 times out of 100, when I see Bitchy!Buffy in fiction, it's because the writer has overidentified with another character. Saint!Willow, or Underappreciated!Xander. How DARE Buffy disapprove just because a close friend of hers is boinking a demon vowed to destroy all she holds dear? Doesn't she know that Willow is her Best Friend, and is kind, sweet, and smart? Similarly, how DARE Drusilla get huffy just because the guy who vowed eternal love to her has fallen hard for the enemy of all his kind? Doesn't she realize that this is Spike we're talking about? The guy with the repartee, the coat, and the cheekbones?