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The light spills onto the streets as I step out on this crisp monday morning. I check my watch and it is little after six. I remember an article I read once about depression. Apparently early-morning rising is the first sign of clinical depression. I chuckle to myself, "I s'pose that's right". My eyes survey the winter-stricken neighbourhood, an old asian lady takes in her empty rubbish bin, a crow nibbles at some spilt garbage, nothing much else happens. Somehow I find myself stroll downhill towards the shops, I figure I can buy the newspaper and some breakfast before my first lecture. Today I will pay attention and start the long and arduous journey towards not failing my course. Today I will ring my parents and tell them I'm fine. Today I'll fix the washing machine. Today I'll do a lot of things.

When I think about it realistically, it's probably better that she told me. I was just clinging on to a false hope. She never did love me, at least, not like that. So I suppose it's better this way. I pass the supermarket and enter the newsagent. I pick up the paper and toss it on the counter. The man behind the counter seems sad, or to be more precise, bored. He looks like he has had his joy, his passion for life sucked out of him with a straw and has been left as a souless drone to go about his daily life thinking only about the most basic tasks he has to complete in order to survive, so as not to face the tremendous burden of his broken mental state. Despite my empathy for this man, I feel selfishly glad; I was once like that too, but not anymore.

I sit at a stool facing the window whilst I eat my breakfast so that I can watch the passersby on the street. They all seem either preoccupied or aimless. None of them seem truly content, not that I am, but at least I'm getting better. I can feel my life reforming even now as I sit sipping my coffee. It's not quite the same as before, of course, it'll never be the same as before, but it's alright. I think about calling my some of my old friends, for just a moment. I suppose I should just learn to do without for a bit, after all they've been through, I wouldn't want to force myself back into their lives again, it would be too awkward. I sit and wonder about my old life, before Angie. It was good, probably better than after but I'm still glad that I met her. Despite all the pain, all the emotional torment she put me through, or possibly because of this, I've been able to grow into the adult that I never thought I'd be. She broke my young and naive heart and now I've put it back together with intelligence and experience. I'm no longer the anxious, eager boy I once was. I no longer care about my image. I don't contemplate suicide. I don't long for companionship like it's some sort of drug. I'm no longer depressed. Maybe yesterday, but not today.

I finish my coffee and head back home, it feels warm in my belly, shielding me from the bitter cold. I look about me and everything is good.