He’d been lying there, wide awake, for at least an hour when the bedside alarm finally sounded its shrill, electronic squawk. Out in the darkened driveway, the boat was fuelled and hooked to the car, every item of gear meticulously organised and packed from the night before. The weather report was benevolent and he knew the fish were biting. But a heavy weight pressed down on the man’s chest, while dense, black clouds swirled endlessly inside his head. Every thought that careened through his seething brain was a negative one, every perceived outcome a disappointment or total disaster. Minutes ticked by, dragging into another hour, and the eastern sky began to lighten perceptibly as he wrestled with his inner demons, drowning in those fathomless clouds of swirling darkness. For the hundredth time since waking, he turned fitfully from one side to the other, now drawing his knees up toward his chest as he attempted to curl into a tight, defensive ball. Kookaburras began laughing raucously on the power poles right outside the window. It seemed as if they were mocking and jeering his weakness. The man squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, but the boiling clouds of blackness still filled his head. He wouldn’t fish today… He might not even get out of bed. What was the point? What was the point of anything? Depression… Society’s reaction to that three-syllable word has shifted dramatically in just a few generations. For our grandparents, it triggered memories of a period of unprecedented financial hardship sandwiched between the great wars of the 20th century. For them, the notion of depression as a mental state or even an illness was less familiar. Everyone experienced sadness or stress in their lives, but they were expected to “get over it”....