It was noon on a normal day and there were a million reasons to be happy and love my life, but instead I found myself going over the million reasons why I wanted to die. That’s essentially all I have to say about the 10 years during which I battled depression. There was no cause. No childhood traumas or defining memories or parents’ divorce led to this. I had normal experiences, normal friends, and normal grades in school; I received a rather normal college education, graduated, got a normal job, and wound up in a normal healthy relationship.

For a while I struggled with the realization that there was nothing and no one to blame but myself, but eventually I came to terms with that fact. I’ve realized that my depression is purely a chemical imbalance in my brain. I learned to manage it over time with a combination of regular exercise, SSRI’s, and CBT. As I’ve gotten older and cultivated more real and honest friendships, I’ve realized that mental health issues are nothing to be ashamed of—they’re actually extremely common. Everyone I know has either been affected at some point in their life, or they know someone close to them who has been. That said, I’m still not publishing this under my full name.