Maybe it's just me... but the physical death and pain just doesn't hit me as hard as the betrayals and repeated denials and lack of support from his own friends and followers do. Even the night of prayer with the disciples falling asleep hits me much harder than the physical agony of dying.

Just confirming my lack of faith in human kind and acknowledging the fickle attention of even those that profess love. That's what depresses me. Dying for the right thing, that's courageous. Denying one you told you loved just a few hours ago, is every person's fear and weakness and a mirror for my own lack of courage, sometimes. That's why it makes me so depressed, I think.