Winston Churchill aptly referred to his dark moods as a black dog. Like a faithful dog, depression follows wherever its person goes. Sometimes the dog is far behind; you hope it found a new home. Then, it catches up, nips at your heels, starts yipping, and begins running about the legs, tripping you up. It might growl and show its teeth adding anxiety to the mix.
Lincoln served in the Illinois legislature with Robert L. Wilson who later wrote about Lincoln’s melancholy.
“In a conversation with him about that time (1836), he told me that although he appeared to enjoy life rapturously, still he was the victim of terrible melancholy. He sought company, and indulged in fun and hilarity without restraint, or stint as to time. Still when by himself, he told me that he was so overcome with mental depression, that he never dare carry a knife in his pocket. As long as I was intimately acquainted with him, previous to the commencement of the practice of the law, he never carried a pocketknife, still he was not a misanthropic. He was kind and tender in his treatment to others.”
Think of the tweets a paragraph like that would spark today:
Lincoln is dangerous - too depressed to carry a pocketknife.
Lincoln swings as a monkey from rapture into terrible melancholy.
Kind and tender Lincoln too sensitive for White House.
Lincoln seen having fun? These are serious times, Abe.
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