sadness can make us lose our life

Few months ago, I had a friend, a lady-friend to be exact. She was around 30 years old, very beautiful very successful and very married. Yes, she was married to a well-known man who enjoyed a very powerful position in one of the country’s mega media companies. This “friend” wanted more than a friendship relation with me. She obviously wanted a very close relation with me assuming I would be the perfect guy for her. She assumed that I’m 30, and all I did was just support this assumption.
With the days, our relation became stronger (from one side, which was hers). For some reason, she assumed that I want to run away with her, and start a new life. in short,  she was nothing to me but a good novel material.
Since I’m a serious novelist, I take opportunity and record all the strange events I come across in my daily life, to benefit from in my future novels. Which means that every single human being I came across in my life have a profile in my computer (personality, emotion wise, intellectuality… etc), isn’t that what good novelists usually do, they experiment and observe to come up with a good novel.
Anyway, what made me keep this relation was the fact that this lady had serious emotional and psychological issues. As she told me, she suffered chronicle depression and occasional blackouts and she was on a lot of numbness drugs that would prevent her from committing suicide. I became fascinated with her dark deep cold personality and I started to prepare my next novel which would be based on her life story. She was a writer too, writing a memoir in the time we were in contact. She sent me her book to evaluate (assuming I’m a strong keen novelist). I honestly couldn’t finish the entire book since I found its language plan and the ideas direct and cold. She was revolving around the point of depression without striking topics that gave led to it.
After a reading her book, I entered a loop of depression that lasted for three entire days. I ate like a pig, and slept like an old lady (which are the things I do when I get depressed). I suffered chronicle depression when I was 17 and it lasted with me until my third year in collage. It didn’t show really on my face, but I did suffer it in silence. In the end the depression was gone (or so I thought) until I read her book. She suffered rape in the age of 20 in London, she was abused as a child suffering the war in Lebanon, and she got married to a local man that treats her as a “thing”. She was trying to get pregnant but her husband obviously lost interest in her.
This woman did leave a trace of sorrow in my life, and I’m really glad that our relation has ended. And I’ve just heard that she is finally pregnant and waiting for a baby that might start a new era of pure happiness in her sad miserable life.