The further into my recovery from the last bout of depression I get, the clearer things are starting to become. As the mixture of worthlessness, fear and despair continues to unravel I find myself recognising not only the changes mentally, but also the changes in my behaviour. When I was a child I had an irrational fear of getting onto a downward escalator. I’d do it, but only after I’d stood at the top for a good several seconds, watching in trepidation as the staircase moved by itself. According to my Mother I witnessed a young woman with a pram have an accident on one when I was very little and ever since, I’ve been hesitant to get on one. Last Tuesday, while on my way to work, I arrived at the Station as another train disgorged it’s passengers. The staircase that I usually walk down was flooded with 100’s of commuters arriving in the suburb for their day at work. Without thinking about it, and without hesitation I stepped on the escalator and it …