Whither thought ?

All of us think. But its how we think and what we think about that makes the difference. How thought makes us feel. The memories it provides through recall, signposts of what we have become. The one process that defines who and what we are and, if one is aware enough, perhaps may even provide an understanding of why we are the way we are! How does thought emerge has been a vexed question to which I'm still searching for an answer.
It is one of the foremost anxieties during my depths of depression. A blank mind groping for any trigger to thought. Conversations are mono-syllables, interactions dreaded coz there is nothing to say. No thought or response comes to mind. Whither thought? Unanswered, it just confirms my sense of worthlessness.
3 months of anti-deps and one surfaces out of the pits of despondency and uselessness. Thought is focused on WHY. Why am I the person I am? Just who am I and what made me this way? There's no recall of the large part of life lived. Nor an understanding of the person who lived it. Attempts to make sense of it all keep coming to naught because of a seemingly ingrained apathy that haunts this quest for meaning. And awareness of that only magnifies the deficiencies of a lif lived, ignorant of and apparently bereft of feeling. WHY?
A question asked maybe too late in life. Because the awareness dawned very late in life. It took 48 years and a life in shambles to start an introspection of who I was and, the dawning of hazy realisations and half baked hypothesis as to why I was that way. A search sifting through stray images from memory that denoted milestones on the journey, but no residual flavour of the experiences that went into shaping the traveller. The thoughts that resulted in the awareness were just a collage of images. Fragments of moments providing a hazy record of events from my life. No sense or feeling evoked or attached. No continuum and oh so many gaps in memory.
The thought process stays focused on recall of a life and all one gets is the sense that, the better part of life and experience has for some reason, not registered in memory. Even the scalding acrimony that ripped the marriage apart, that was so torturous to live with then, doesn't evoke any emotion on reflection. Just hazy images without substance or the intensity of near hatred felt then...A strange apathy.
That's all my thought process delivers to me. There's no flights of imagination, no feelings aroused, no desires or wants triggered. All that thought seems capable of is to continuously remind me of the hollowness of my being. The mind seems cloaked in an anesthetic veil, numbing all the sense of my experiences, blocking all semblance of feeling.....WHY?