Several months ago all of my melancholy began a shift into anger. There is a saying that most people have probably heard by now: 'Depression is anger turned inward.'- Well, that's quite right. But its one thing to know something through reason and concept and quite another to come to know it through direct experience or apprehension. It all started some months ago and at first I didn't know what to make of it. I thought that maybe it was just a phase; just a symptom of inevitable exhaustion. But then when the anger proved its persistence and capacity, intention, to grow, I realized that I had something more concerning on my hands. It was a source of great distress for me, this anger, because when it came to emotions, I always erred on the side of sadness, or self-loathing. And as ugly and unpleasant as that sounds, it all served quite a purpose that I became entirely comfortable with. These tendencies made it easy for me to be deferential, empathic, sensitive and harmless when it came to other people. It also kept me safe for the melancholy and the anxiety which inevitably accompanies it keeps me from situations where my fears and comfort may be challenged, where I may be judged or ridiculed or rejected. It also kept me from any situation which might hold any promise of community or relationship, but safety was the priority. Over time I had lost the ability to fight it all, lost the ability to build the momentum necessary to climb out of the habitual groove that I had carved for myself. And as time tore on, it took more and more energy just to get moving and when I did, I made less and less progress all of the time. I lived a hermit's life, a static life; a life which justifiably had little hope, for what hope could there be in stasis. None of this has changed. I am far, far down the groove, practically beyond my ability to see the sky, feel the warmth of the day or breathe clean air. Yet now what was once melancholy is turning to anger, and it is getting worse and worse. Now, I not only fear doing destruction to my own life but I also fear destroying what relationships I do have and bringing unjustified unrest to the peace of others. And that would tear me apart. I have to acknowledge that even though this process is brutally difficult, it may be a beginning of healing to wholeness that I have waited for for so long. If indeed depression is anger turned inward, or repressed and distorted sadness, both in my case and in general, then it would stand to reason that the apparent conversion of my melancholy into anger is a process by which that which has remained covered and cloaked is being uncovered and revealed, and that is the beginning of healing, (if I survive it, that is). But if this is all an additive process whereby anger is being layered atop my sadness, or melancholy, then there is justification in believing that this is the beginning of the end. Only time will tell.