I can guess that the first thought that comes to mind when reading this title is something along the lines of how on Earth can appreciation and depression go together. My answer to that: they don't. Depression is horrible and I wouldn't recommend it, but it made me who I am today. And that person, the person typing this article, sipping on ice water in a big t-shirt and fuzzy socks, I happen to love. I am firm believer in having no regrets and I want always in my life to answer the question, "would you change anything about your past?" with a definitive and immediate, "heck, no." And I am very pleased to say that even with my experience with depression, my answer hasn't changed. It was the worst year of my life, but I wouldn't exchange it for anything. So, with that being said, here is the explanation on how I can possibly say thank you to my old acquaintance: Depression.

It was not welcome. In fact, I don't think it ever is. It just barged in when I least expected it and overstayed. It set up shop when I frowned in the mirror. It moved its furniture in when I felt inadequate. It picked out wallpaper when I realized people could know all about me and still decide to leave. It settled for good when I told myself I wasn't worth the stay. And then it made me forget to smile during conversations. It made me tired but didn't allow me to sleep. It made me irritable and snappy when I wanted to be caring and understanding. It made me frown, even more, feel even more inadequate, feel even less worthy. But it was also quiet. So quiet, I could not see or hear or sense any intruder. So quiet, I lived for far too long in its wake. Even so, it was not welcome.

But it had already moved in and made a copy of the key so it was there and I was stuck. Since my world had been infiltrated, I did the only thing logical. I escaped. I ran to other worlds far from my own. To the past, to love, to adventure, to people similar to me. I ran to worlds that had visible endings, happy conclusions. And while I was running, I bumped into books. I fumbled with words that explained to me what my heart couldn't comprehend. And I found an understanding there. I found stability there. I fell in love with words when I had fallen out of love with life.

And then I made my own universe. I crafted my own world out of words and to this day, I live there periodically. When depression built a house to live in somewhere deep inside of me, I made a life somewhere else. I created characters with traits I could love, with the traits I had lost hope for in the world. I let them figure out what I couldn't. I let them feel emotionless and scared and confused. I let my fingers type away and carve a world that made better sense than my own. I let my mind race for hours on end. I would re-read and write and re-read and write. At some point, these characters--my characters--found all the things I had lost. They were greeted with safety and hope and peace. The story's true happy ending has yet to be written, but I have it in my head. You see, my world is still being crafted. I probably will continue to shave off the edges for some time. Looking back, though, I see very clearly that this world I was meant to escape in happened to also be my only road home.

So, depression. It's horrible. I hope you never have to go through it. But it is also what pushed me to words, to my passion, to a trait that made me feel worthy again. Depression left me tattered and bruised. But I got back up with a strength I hadn't had before. I was able to walk right up to it and kick it out of my life. It lead me down a very hard road, I will not deny that. But perhaps the road was so hard to begin with because it was steep. It was headed up, to better things. I am not overjoyed with the detour depression laid out for me, but I am more than happy with where the journey left me.

Struggles can be blessings in disguise. That's a lesson I've learned.