ABOUT THE EDGES OF DEPRESSION, BEARSKIN AND GESTALT.

Burn in hell," I say before crawling back under the duvet, "burn in hell, sunshine men. So cheerful, it seems like they could give out dopamine and serotonin over wi-fi. If only someone had invented such technology.

But no one has, so disappear. Or at least move away. It's physically difficult for me to endure your unbridled enthusiasm.

I'm going to the Belarusan activists, because there is darkness, decay, and hopelessness there. I hope to talk about the meaninglessness of existence, about accepting helplessness and how to survive in conditions of total uncertainty.

- And let's go to wash the monument to the Belarusan uprising of a thousand years ago, - say Belarusan activists.

- And we'll grill kebabs there!

- Yes! All together! The dress code is white and red.

- And we'll take turns reading aloud Vasil Bykov's poems!

- Yes! And sing them on guitar to the tune of Kupalinka!

My God, who are these energetic people? I don't have the energy to clean my own flat or read aloud a prescription for antidepressants. Let alone sing it. And my dress code for the past month has been pyjamas. Green.

I'm leaving Belarusian activists, this relentless enthusiasm and lust for life is hurting me.

I'd rather go somewhere by the sea. Better yet, to a regatta. That's where lonely introverts gather to find their harmony alone with the elements. I hope to lie somewhere in the far corner of a yacht and stare out at the horizon for the next fortnight, surrounded by the same silent and stern sea wolves and she-wolves.

- 'And let's dance every morning to music,' say the stern sea wolves.

- And do yoga at sunset with the whole regatta.

- And record funny photos and videos, and then compete to see who's got the funniest!

- Don't forget the disco! Dress code for the evening.

Mums, can I wear my evening pyjamas? And at yoga, I'll only do one pose, shavasana. And only in my cabin.

I go to the gestalt therapists' therapy group. I complain about the cheerful activists and energetic over-enthusiastic sea wolves. I tell them I feel like a bear skin in the corner of the room in my depression - lying there with no energy or movement, but periodically biting off the legs of those who come too close.

And it feels like this is where I can finally be. Lying in the corner, in my pyjamas, occasionally biting myself, not dancing, not doing yoga or reading poetry. To be understood, to be heard, to be hugged.

And I think about how sometimes we all need that kind of judgment-free space. Can I stay here for a while?