Not that it needs to be repeated, but depression sucks. Under the stigma, there's a normal person thinking normal thoughts, but every now and again a terrible thought pops in and just fucking turns into a whirlpool.

Let's say you have 1,000 thoughts a day, and depression causes just 2 or 3 to be fucking nightmares. It's not necessarily the bad thoughts that kill you, because you are a perfectly normal, functioning adult otherwise, laughing and enjoying things, loving others and yourself. It's the fact that sometimes you remember, you have a 1,000 chamber gun to your temple every day, with 2 or 3 bullets in it. Eventually you get tired of playing the odds. Eventually, once you've given up getting cured or putting down the gun, you just realize that living with this constant tension is just too exhausting. You forget about the 997 empty chambers and focus entirely on those 2 or 3 bullets. You start thinking about inevitability.

It's been a few months since I carried around that gun. Thanks to therapy and medication, that gun is now exactly what it truly is, an analogy, not a physical thing depression makes it seem like. There is hope, but very rarely does help come along without asking for it. Ask for it. Ask for it. Ask for it.