Dear Diary,

I know I've talked about the Black Dog before. Probably more than once. But the problem with chronic depression is like so many of the day to day adult tasks. Like cooking, or laundry, or dishes. Like wiping a baby's ass when they shit themselves. Honestly, I think it really expressed how I feel about it that I'd rather deal with that last one than chronic depression. Because not only is cleaning up a baby's ass something that has the immediate positive feedback of both a clean baby ass and, with just the tiniest bit of luck, a happy baby. If you've got milky tits, that latter is almost fuckin' guaranteed, because having offloaded and gotten clean, the only thought on a baby's tiny baby brain is reloading.

Chronic depression, on the other hand, is closer to cooking, or laundry, or taking out the garbage. Fuck, it's clearly worse than them, too. Assuming a lack of tragedy, the end of dirty diapers means you've now got a potty trained toddler roaming around. While cooking, laundry, and taking out the garbage don't end so long as there's a living person in the household, which means they're lifelong companions of every adult who isn't taken care of for one reason or another, they each have an upside. You cook, and you've got food. Maybe even tasty or healthy food if you've got the skills, resources, and time. You do the laundry and you've got clean sheets to sleep in, clean clothes to wear, or both. You take out the trash and I'm at least giving you a hand job. Head's practically guaranteed if your idea of a date is more than fast food and Netflix.

Yes, my self-worth plummets when the Black Dog bites me. No, Saffron is not automagically aware of every time my neurotransmitters go on strike. As I discovered today, even the Dopamine Button isn't a guaranteed cure, either.

This week has been pretty good. My students are progressing nicely, providing healthy competition for one another while also supporting, celebrating, and rewarding one another's progress. My girls are learning to care for their pets, and helping one another out in a lot of the same ways, although their rewards tend to be actual hugs and compliments rather than the adult naked sweaty time I'm pretty sure at least some of my students get up to. I've gotten good enough in the kitchen that my Murder Mittens and I are collaborating with our experimentation. Okay, she might be patting me on the head when I don't actually defecate in my hand and pretend it's chocolate sauce, but... Fuck, I think... no, I know I'm actually crashing.

Yeah, I think it started a little last night. Not a lot. I brought home my latest creations, a bunch of new sandwiches. Most of them were variations on 'cook meat, put protein between cheese, put buttered bread around cheese and fry that shit under pressure', but given we've got at least four distinct variations of cheese at the Academy and the protein variations are practically endless at this point, that's a wide range of options. Tonight I'd battered and fried some fish and some chicken, then done the same with some pork and beef after beating the living shit out of it with a meat tenderizer. Had Jon make that up special, and he nailed it. Apparently the Maenads usually used the 'perforate, then marinate' method of tenderizing, but all of them appreciate a good bang, so I'm pretty sure the cooks among them are gonna try it out over the next couple days.

Marie and I also made fried veggies. Not quite tempura, not quite fries, but somewhere between. She handled the slicing, because her delicate knife skills are so much better than mine it's not funny, and I figured keeping things top drawer the first time the kids tried them was a good plan. I handled the battering and frying, because I can just wipe the oil splatter off my fingers, where she has to do some serious scrubbing to get it out of her fur. I think I should have known I wasn't on my game when I didn't think of licking her clean.

Got home, laid out a whole fuckin' buffet of fried food for our girls and visiting women. Grabbed up two plates special and wandered over to Ria. Laid the first one in front of her, a battered fried fish fillet on a grilled brioche like bun. She took one delicate bite, crinkled up her nose, and said, "it's good, but I liked the egg sandwich better."

At which point I whipped the other plate around, this one with a grilled egg and cheese, with little Fae grain fritters on it. I swiped the fish, or I tried to, because she held on to it. "But... really?"

I shrugged. "If I can make food you like, why wouldn't I?"

She slipped out of her chair to throw her arms around me and squeak out, "thank you, Mama!" Then she went back to the Serious Business of eating. She ate all of the eggy cheese sandwich and her fritters, and I'm pretty sure she eventually polished off like half of the fish before Menace stole it away. I'd have said something, but Maze stole half of that, and Ria looked full enough to be sleepy anyhow.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Best thing about fried food made with good ingredients is that even once it cools down it's still pretty good. After delivering sampler plates to my ladies, I insisted that Marie let me feed them to her while Saffron did the same with Siobhan. Turns out Murder Mittens is down for just about any kind of protein, but she prefers meat. Siobhan did not like so much fried food, and wound up picking at everything.

By the time we hit the Bath, some of each of that had started eating at me. Snuggled Siobhan to me, trying without words to get her to reassure me that I was not, in fact, some kind of horrible piece of shit who force fed her shit that made her nauseous.

Dreamt of my ladies floating leisurely around my Maw on grill toasted buns. Because obviously they didn't want to actually feed themselves to me.

Got up, Co-Located around the Alliance, a dozen of me at the Academy, one with Saffron at Alliance HQ, one with most of the girls, one letting Maze read to me in the Lancaster House Suite.

Yeah, part of chronic depression that most people don't get, even the ones who've dealt with the non-chronic variety, is that it doesn't need a fuckin' reason. Yeah, I get depressed when depressing things happen. That shit can happen to anybody. But I can also wind up depressed because my fuckin' brain chemistry decides, 'oh, we haven't had an adrenaline spike from mortal danger in weeks now, it's time to shut down all neurotransmitters because fuck your having a pleasant slice of uneventful life, you shit sucking bitch'.

Yeah, my particular flavor of depression teams up with my self-loathing to point out every fuckin' thing that normally wouldn't even show up on my radar, then not only highlight it like the least helpful game UI ever, but give me tool tips on why I am a piece of shit and every bit of bad feelings I'll ever have are my own fuckin' fault.

At lunch I showed up to deliver Saffron's lunch as she sat coding up her new Inspect, which would probably be done by now if a certain dumbass hadn't kept creeping her scope. She turned to me as I lifted the lid off the tray to expose the bowl of fried rice I'd worked up, then pouted at me. "I was hoping for more sandwiching. I mean sandwiches. Except I really don't." Then she looked up at Maid me; I think I'd sighed or something. A moment later, the Imperator looked up to where her Champion had been sitting atop Treachery Rock thinking about how I'd almost failed to save her, and would have had she not been the ultimate badass with lightning reflexes and saved herself.

A moment later I flopped back onto the bed in the Bedroom, my view of everything obscured by Saffron's face. Okay, her face, her hair, her sweater puppies where they dangled onto mine. "Love?"

"Yeah?"

"Has something happened?" I shook my head. She smiled softly down at me and sang, "please let me make it better?"

My eyes teared up. "Fuck."

"Certainly, my Tabitha," she sang, and I winced as even dopamine force fed into my brain through the button to my pleasure centers she'd conditioned me with failed to do more than highlight exactly how fucked up I felt.

"I'm sorry," I cried as I tentatively wrapped my arms around her, wanting to pull her down, crush her into me, to feel her atop me, around me, inside me, enveloping me, hiding myself from myself until I felt like maybe I could fool myself into loving myself, since I couldn't see me, just Saffron.

Always Saffron. Even, maybe especially, when I don't deserve her.

A moment later Saffron showed up in the kitchen. "Lovely wife, I'll need all of Tabitha's attention for the day."

Marie just smiled at her fondly. "I'll Manage." Then she shooed us with one claw while directing the rest of the Maenad Maids and other staff with gestures and looks.

Saffron showed in the Infirmary. "Sister, could you attend to the children today? I've need of Tabitha's full attention."

Siobhan turned, walked over to where I sat with Saffron's hand on my shoulder. "Might I assist?" she whispered as she pulled my face into the hole I'd conned her into cutting into her robes.

That would leave the children unattended, since you're only to be in one place at a time until you give birth to our daughter, dear Concubine.

Of course, Mistress. But if you need me?

Saffron smiled at her, so warmly I could feel it through my brain. I will certainly call upon you if I do.

A moment later, she and I lay in the Bedroom alone. "May I, love?"

I shrugged. "Whatever."

She sighed. "Love, I want to help you. Do I have your permission to do what I must to do so?"

It was all I could do to say, "yeah, sure."

"Good Girl," she whispered into my ear. A moment later, she Co-Located the two of us to the Practice Yard, slapped my ass, and shouted, "get moving, Diaz!" My limbs moved of their own volition, jumping into a run, as Saffron settled into the inner track and loped alongside me, calling encouragement as we ran.

I lost myself to the endless pounding of my feet on the Practice Yard pavers. I'd say I also lost myself to the endless pounding of my Kitten into my guts, but she didn't. She was gentle, and kind, and soft, and sweet, forcing my reluctant brain to finally, grudgingly, a drip at a time, release the Happy Brain Chemicals that let me see myself and my impact on the world as something other than a steaming lump of shit.

Okay, some pounding occurred. Eventually. Kind of like the sexy version of smacking a vending machine when it steals your dollar and won't give up the sugary treats. But I can't really complain all that much.

It took all day, but it worked.

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