This post may be triggering for its mention and description of depression.
My depression has made me enjoy/appreciate things that, though diminishing returns is in play, I am thankful for. If it wasn’t for depression, I wouldn’t have appreciated the written word. The written word has brought me comfort. I suspect it does for a great many people.
Because I sought it out, I have learned to appreciate it. If I didn’t have depression, while I can’t say with confidence, I feel that I wouldn’t have read as much as I do now. I love “experiencing” different worlds and ideas through reading. There’s something about reading that captivates the attention. Entering in the world through words and having your own mind construct/make sense of it is…not something that can be replaced or bested IMO. It’s the next best thing in terms of experiencing what the author is wiring short of actually being in that reality as a watcher. If the novel/book is adapted on the screen that is fabulous too but, again, it kind of falls short of what your mind “plays”.