This surely goes without saying & is very obvious but, nevertheless, please be careful as regards your choice of reading and viewing matter:
Years ago, I had to give up reading about the Holocaust. I'd began reading about it because I've always been interested in history and because I struggle to understand cruelty and the motivations of those who perform it. I mean that literally - I actually can't understand it, and felt it necessary to learn in order to be a less naive person. (This 'innocence' doesn't necessarily iindicate that I am a good or virtuous person, only that cruelty just doesn't occur to me and the pleasure some others apparently take in it seems so bizarre to me that it's too puzzling and strange for my mind to take in.)
In any case, I was reading some newspaper features about Oscar-nominated films and, in one, The Zone of Interest was highlighted. Of course, there are many movies and books about the concentration camps which are far more graphic - in fact, the absence of such graphic horrors is arguably the whole point of the film - but the secondary horror is centred on emotional detachment, that of the 'by-stander's' and the participants'. This is an especially cold or cold-hearted horror, so much so that I've been depressed for some days. Though that might appear an indulgence on my part - how could my 'suffering' even begin to compare to the camp's inmates'? - but it happened anyway because depression simply occurs, sometimes without a trigger, let alone one so utterly devastating as this subject.
The subject is too vast for (doubtless) many of us to cope with. I read that the revelation of the camps, its cruelties, slaughter and the perpetrators' cynical, clinical madness consisting of both unimaginable malice and compartmentalised banality is beyond our ability to bear the reality of what in actual fact happened. I read also that a part of humanity's loss of faith in itself issues not only from the horror of it all but that this was when civilisation fractured and fell apart:
'That, ultimately, the film has less moral force than numerous documentaries involving perpetrators and survivors, particularly Claude Lanzmann's Shoah, rather underlines the singularity of the Holocaust in world history. It is simply too monstrous a crime to fit easily into any kind of narrative treatment. There is no conventional storytelling structure that can do it justice; it is where civilisation, and thus storytelling, breaks down. And yet most us need stories to bring these events to life.'
It's good to educate and inform oneself; it's not good to simply shy away from horror, as upsetting as it is; but it's not good to dwell on it, especially for people who are prone to depression. And the Holocaust, singularly, might be a void whose dimensions are just too great and limitless to contemplate safely.