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Well, isn’t that the most creative title you’ve ever set your eyes on?  It doesn’t matter, though; I’ve a great many things that need to be said, and damn it all, I’m going to say them regardless of how impressive my title is

In any case, hello again, Depression.  Have you missed me?

It’s been a while since you were a real force in my life.  A while since you were anything more than the reason I take a pill every day when I wake up.  You’re pretty damned harmless now, I have to say, but don’t get me wrong; I can still remember quite vividly what you did to me from the time I was thirteen until a few months ago, when I finally got help.

You’re a clever bastard, I have to say.  You almost got me, I guess as a sort of revenge for not being able to take my mother down when she was my age.  Disguising yourself as regular teenaged angst from thirteen to sixteen, and then going all-out and turning me into a nearly catatonic husk of a person from seventeen to twenty.  Pretty damned smart of you.  We both know that you nearly tricked me into killing myself on more than a few occasions, and that your suffocating influence is what lead me to giving up all of my friends, alienating my family and hiding away from the world for a good three years.  You’re damned good at what you do,  but you’re just not good enough.

You see, Depression, I won.

I beat you.  It’s over.  One pill, and you can’t put your hands around my throat any more.  One pill, and I emerge from my home with the biggest fucking smile you’ve ever seen.  My friends, who are seriously the best fucking friends a girl could ask for, were waiting for me when I came out from the shadow of my disorder.  My grandmother broke down and cried when she learned that I was able to kick your ass out of my life.  For the first time in ages, I’m happy.  I’m happy, I’m doing the things I love to do, I’m spending time with the people who make my life truly amazing, and I’m enjoying every moment of this life that you tried to steal from me.

I don’t know who I’d be, or where I’d be if you hadn’t come into my life at such an early age.  Maybe I’d have graduated instead of getting my GED.  Maybe I’d be in love.  Maybe I’d live somewhere that I can only dream about right now.  Maybe I’d be dead.  It’s useless, really, to think of all the ways that I would be different were I not one of your victims.  You came into my life, just as you came into the lives of all the relatives I inherited you from, and you’re always going to be here, lurking in the shadows and waiting for a day I forget to take my medication.  You’ll be there when I have a child of my own and I worry that she’s going to be pulled into your toxic embrace.  You’ll be there every morning when I pop the top from my bottle of meds, that lingering reminder of what I used to be, and what I could be again if I allowed it.

But for now, my dear Depression, I can take comfort in one thing.

I won.