It is a sad thing to be sad and not know why.

Often, without any obvious cause, the colors of the world melt and ooze into a grey-brown pool on the ground before me and then disappear into some invisible hole. My mind then hammers into thought dozens of possible causes to this melancholy--none of which are definitive. Is my philosophical framework too weak to bear life; do I feel unaccepted by my piers or family; is it right that I should so highly value their acceptance; did I fail to get enough sleep last night; was that English muffin with creme-cheese a bad choice for breakfast? I consider all these (there are many more) to be plausible, but never can I know (Oh, to know beyond doubt the cause of these effects!). And, because of that impenetrable degree of uncertainty inherit in all of life's seasons, I am certain that we are not expected to know everything. And so, I make treaty with this melancholy--not surrender; treaty. I seek God (for all true peace is found in His way), go to bed earlier, try a different breakfast entree, and if God so chooses I will feel better by tommorow. If not, His will is good; He is worthy of praise.

Make peace with your melancholy. It will not destroy you. It only pretends to be dangerous.