I do. I get sick of it all the time.
So sick, that sometimes I take me by the shoulders, give 'em a good shake, look me in the eye and yell, "Snap out of it, you crazy woman! Can't you see what a miserable wretch you are? Get over it!" Usually after these episodes, I feel guilty for making me feel so bad, but it has to be done. It quite often has to be done. I mean, what else can I do for me? I can't force me to change, but I can't stand by and watch me whither in self-pity and look pathetic in front of all my blogging friends. And real friends. So, I have to do to me what I know I would do to myself. And that is putting the smack-down!
But then other times, I let me get sad and internally complain the day away. Even when I can head off the depression and feel it coming, I know I won't be able to stop it from overtaking me, and it makes me sad that I can't help me some more. I get almost as sad as me gets. Because I like me. I really do. This is why I have to go all vigilante on me sometimes and thus the shaking of my shoulders and yelling and such. Tough love, people. Tough love.
It's hard to see someone suffer, especially if we love that person, right?