Certain kinds of depression cause me to overeat. I just basically wear a path in the carpet between my chosen point of food consumption and the kitchen. Then I feel like an ass and get more depressed and eat more. Rinse and repeat.
Other kinds of depression cause me to not give a damn about eating, and to find that everything in life is basically a waste of my time. Had I discovered this interesting brand of depression back in high school, at least my perpetual depression would have had some practical purpose, or at least a more positive side-effect than weight GAIN.
As it is, I’m currently making some chicken salad because I know that today’s combined repast of a breakfast bar, an apple, a yogurt, and a string cheese will not get me through the evening. Eventually, if I don’t eat, something will snap, and I’ll find myself standing in front of a near-empty refrigerator, wondering what the hell happened.