Still, she often floundered about what to do and how to spend her time ("drifting" was the word she frequently used), always struggling with her many eccentricities, and her lifelong melancholy, or depression, and moodiness. As she approached her sixtieth birthday, she told a frequent walking companion, "In a few days, it will be the anniversary of the sorrow that never leaves me, that will never leave me for the rest of my life." To another friend she said in 1971, "I suppose I suffer from very deep depression." It is also arguable, says one biographer, that she was bipolar. "I am very happy one moment, the next there is nothing left for me, " she said in 1933.