Many of you are doubtless familiar with The Bruno Daily Times, by Christopher Baldwin, a very popular webcomic that chronicles in excellent pen-and-ink drawing the life of a young, artistic, depressed young woman named Bruno. Also, it depicts her friends, who are almost universally sparkling and interesting. Please note that for the current month, Bruno is absent, while the artist shows us his really darling and yet not over-saccharine strip for syndication, “Little Dee”.

Occasionally, I reread Bruno, as I reread all the better webcomics on my list, when I am bored and web-abled. In Bruno’s case, it is always interesting to experience the first jar of returning from her current, meandering but romantic and fairly easy-going personality to her college-years’ violently argumentative harridan. Christopher Baldwin is universally (I think) praised for having made such a realistic character, and it’s true. Although, if Bruno were my real-life friend, I am sorry to say, I probably would have killed either myself or her by now.

The disturbing thing is, that this time through, I am less exasperated with Bruno. She is depressed, you see, and mostly for theoretical reasons - she can’t enjoy something without her own philosophical permission to do so (Gross oversimplification, but I’m an audience, not a shrink). I have always pretty much felt like she ought to buck up and try to enjoy life without an abstract reason to do so (which she admits would be a better course). And now, at this point in my life, I understand the feeling a lot better. I’m comfortable - amazingly so. I have Matt, who makes me happy when I’m not working. I have money to buy my comic books, and other such nonsense. I have my own kitchen, friends, roleplaying games. I have a lot of things which make me happy. And yet, the feeling that I am failing, giving up, not realizing my potential, is so pervasive that I break down and cry about once a week (I think—I don’t keep track). This strip makes way too much sense to me these days.

But at the same time, while it’s depressing to empathize with Bruno, and while it’s depressing (but rewarding) to read a lot of Bruno at all, it’s also cheering me up. Because I have a stable relationship, and a lot of other advantages Bruno doesn’t have (including a stronger sense of self-worth, if it ever gets over this lingering head-cold). And my malaise is not going to linger on and on, because I am already making inroads against it. So in an odd way, sharing Bruno’s travails is making me feel really upbeat. I wonder whether that shows excellent optimism on my part, or just means I enjoy fictionalized accounts of others’ suffering….