Depression is a bitch. Anyone who has experienced it in the slightest way can attest to that. Most people who have actually come to face to face with it would probably say that calling it a bitch is the biggest understatement of all time. And with that sentiment I must concur. Depression ruined my life. That’s about as plainly as it can be put. It ruined my life and the lives of the people around. It swallowed all my hopes and dreams and devoured my aspirations for a better life in the future. And though I can’t accurately pinpoint the exact time when it entered my life, I can, however, remember when I recall how much it decimated my existence at the time.

Nobody expects to get depressed. Depression never really sounds like something that has the ability to sneak up on you stealthily. I, for one, always assumed that it was something that hit a person so hard and so unexpectedly that it would be virtually impossible for it to go undetected. I used to think that all the grungy alternative kids that I’d see moping their way to the school counselor’s office were looking for a way to validate their contrived, aloof behavior. I never knew how real it was and the impact that it could actually have on anyone’s life…even us “normal” people. Oh well, at least people expect you to be a dumbass when you’re that age.

These days I constantly find myself thanking God that I was able to get the help I need from depression treatment and I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done if it never existed. Life is definitely a trip.