I remember once being restless, looking for something to make my life better.
Now I can't imagine what material object could possibly make my life better (or how I ever thought it possible).
Here is a truth: depression means a loss of scale. Little chores become insurmountable tasks, huge problems become so abstract as to become almosy meaningless; sometimes the decisions involved in the act of, say, feeding yourself, feel totally overwhelming. Losing your sense of scale means that all problems become equally crushing.
Here is another: happiness works much the same way. Today there is coffee in my cup and beautiful, beautiful children, and water against my skin and sunshine on my face and today they are all equal cause for joy. They are inseparable, and it would be impossible to discern which contributes the most happiness to this wonderful, amazing, wild and precious life.