The perfect blue

If I could explain it, I would. And please do not misunderstand me: it's not that I don't tell you about it because you can't help me; it's more like, I don't tell you about it because it - talking about it - doesn't help me. Sometimes I do feel it's the other way around, with it causing more harm than good. But the truth is, what is there to say? That I feel sad? That I sometimes feel so blue it seems that every positive feeling is simply impossible under the laws of nature? Sure. I could say that, with more or less drama, and it would be more or less true. But I would remain silence when you'd inevitably ask why. Because I don't know why I do sometimes feel the way I do. I have no clue where it comes from, what triggers it, what sustains as it sends me into one of my sulking and more anti-social than usual moods. I don't have those answers, and worse - I don't even know what questions to ask. So you see: I only know half the story, the obvious half. I can only answer what happens, as that's just what I feel every other day. But I can't answer how it happens, nor can I provide much clues. And I can really do without interpretations or half-delusional theories about how I should change my life and my routines and all that mumbo-jumbo. I can figure that out all by myself. That's also the easy part. What I can't figure out is how to change what. And even if by some chance you - anyone - were able to tell me that, it would be pointless as long as I couldn't see it myself.