A Pool Reflecting a Starless Night Sky

She is in a pool, submerged from head to toe. The water is cold and murky and tastes of salt. At this depth no light can penetrate the water. All she sees is inky blackness spreading fifty miles in every dimension. She does not know why her husband left her. It is probably her fault. It always is. She had yelled at him too much for his affair, blamed him too vehemently for their crumbling marriage, refused too stubbornly to compromise. Every single mistake in her life had always been her fault, for as long as she could remember. She should have pleaded for him to stay. She should have tried to maintain their relationship. She should have worked overtime that day and not gone home to find them together on the bed.

Opening her eyes is no different from closing them, here, so deep in the pool. She would go see her psychiatrist, she tells herself. She would get up from the couch and walk over to her car and drive to her psychiatrist. She would go see her psychiatrist and ask him why nobody else makes mistakes.

The pool is calm. Like a mirror, it reflects the starless night sky without a single ripple to disturb its surface. She is still underneath the waves, holding her breath, unsure of how long she can hold it before going up for air. She does not want to rise. The night is cold and the water is warm. The buzz of the television rings in her ears. A tree branch scratches at her window. The room is fetid with four days worth of trash. The water envelopes her like a cocoon. She must swim deeper. A stroke of her arm, a kick of her legs - the water meets her like a lover. The pool is warm, the night is cold, and she does not want to rise.

[Headline: Depression Defies the Rush To Find an Evolutionary Upside]