All my life, I have been chronically depressed. "Wow, a very bold statement." some might conclude, however, I can not begin to describe just how vague "chronically depressed" is compared to the flummox of intricate webs I get constantly caught in, even when I am feeling just fine.

Depression is something so common, so disregarded in today's society that usually when someone says they "suffer from severe chronic depression", or "I suffer from depression", regardless of the validity of that statement. They're sniffed at and either treated like a naughty child, or laughed at, most believing their words as a cry for attention.

True, this disease is often used as an excuse, or an almost fashion-statement label to "fit in" with this generation's trend of mental illness, however, there are a great many of people that legitimately suffer and are ridiculed for something they have absolutely no control over. A chronic illness, regardless of type, is caused naturally by your body.

It's something you're born with, it's in your DNA, it lingers in your cells and slithers through your veins. It can be a demon, or it could be a simple thorn in your side. Mental chronic illnesses like depression, anxiety, OCD, (and others) are caused by a natural chemical imbalance in your brain where your brain makes too much or too little of a certain chemical and creates issues that manifest themselves within your psychological state. These can be passed down genetically, like mine. My mother suffers from mainly OCD along with mild depression and anxiety, her mother was a suicidal bi-polar manic depressive drug addict with a mild personality disorder, and my mother's mother was a suicidal paranoid schizophrenic with major depressive disorder.

"It runs in the family, the best of gifts", they say... Quite an ironic quote, in my opinion. For my family, it seems the extremity of the mental disorders has seemed to taper down to "simple" ailments through the generations. I'm grateful that I don't have the same diseases that my grandmother and great-grandmother had. Each of them had their illnesses wrought out in simple, or even obvious signs.

My mother, for example, as a child would stand on chairs for hours and organize the china cabinet perfectly, down to how the shine reflected on the dishes until she was satisfied with her organization. She obsessed over the littlest details, and it bothered her physically when things were even a touch out of place.

Her mind never let her rest. At night, she would pace back and forth from the front door to her bedroom, only to return to the front to ensure it was locked. She would do this every night at least 20 or 30 times until she finally forced herself to not go check. She knew rationally that the door was locked, she locked it herself, over and over and yanked on the door to make sure it was working correctly. However, the doubt that lingered in her mind drove her to rationalize that it MIGHT have come unlocked, that it MAY not be as safe as she thought... These are the memories she has shared with me and used them as an example to explain her illness to me, for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is not something I understand personally.

Her obsessive thoughts about the lock- thoughts that came without warning- are what gave my mother the OK to go back and forth, even though she knew that it was ridiculous! That the lock couldn't JUST unlock, or break apart in the time it took her to walk only a few steps away. Insanity some might call, but for people like my mom, for any mental illness, this is an everyday reality we face. However, it is a perfect example of how we can not help what we are born with. We don't WANT to be sick like this, we don't sit at home having a panic attack, or having daily existential crisis and think "oh, I'm so "edgy" or exotic for feeling this way, I'm surely going to gain a huge following on social media because of my problems." or "Oh I'm going to be so safe tonight because I locked the door 37 times, and I'm so satisfied with my clean house and kitchen because I rub my hands raw from cleaning so much!" However, it's the sad reality that many people who don't suffer from mental illness perceive those who do.

As a child, my mother remarked that "something seemed off" about me. I wasn't as cheerful and to-the-get-go-involved like the other children. I hung back, reserved. She would ask me if I felt sad, or if I was feeling down-- I wasn't! I was though, miserably shy and she had to place me in one of those "buddy circles" where I was "taught" how to make friends. It some-what worked. I knew that I wanted to make friends, I really truly did. I wanted to be one of those cute little girls with the large bows in their hair, who sang and danced and had all these cute sleep overs and girls-days out. I made friends here and there, but I never really made any sleep-over quality friends. I only had one great friend in elementary school, but she moved away to Connecticut in 2nd grade or so.

It wasn't until middle school in 5th grade that I actually made some decent friends who I would hang out with. Finally!! I felt normal, I felt wanted, loved, and that I wasn't a mistake. But being me, my brain was constantly working against me. I finally had what I had always dreamed of: friends. My happiness was short lived, for with friends and caring for them came anxiety and doubt pervading my thoughts. I would constantly ask them, "are you mad at me?", "I haven't done anything wrong, have I?", or "I'm sorry if I've made you upset." not realizing what I was doing. I was so paranoid that I would lose my friends due to a stray misplaced word, or untimely action that I pushed them away unknowingly. Luckily my friends were understanding after my mom explained to them what I then, did not understand, and they still cared for me. They learned to tolerate my anxious questions and eventually helped me get over it by telling me that I was just being anxious.

I was always pretty outgoing, I wanted to do things. I always wanting to get out of the house and explore. I loved to play outside and I absolutely adored going shopping, because I got to see other children and watch people. The weather influenced me greatly and I always looked forward to coming home after school and frolicking in the front yard. However, the main contradiction in my life then, and still now, was that even though I enjoy going out and experiencing the world and it's inhabitants... I always have these doubts in the back of my mind warning me not to do anything. I have a looming-dread manifestation that gathers it's troops in my chest and sends out little soldiers of doubt, fear, angst, doom and disappointment all throughout my body. It literally feels like I'm drowning in this barely tangible darkness, and I usually end up staying up or not doing what I had intended to do because I just feel: "what is the point?".

I've gotten to the point where I am just so nervous about breaking out of my comfort zones due to the ever-waiting dread and depression that's sure to smother me once I get back home. It's the reason I dread opening messages from friends because I am fearful of becoming overwhelmed by their harmless words. However, if and when I actually push past my fears and hang out or talk to my friends, or am forced to go out, I feel fine. I enjoy the activities. I feel free unencumbered. I feel normal. But still, even in the midst of my purest splendor, there's always that little something in the back of my mind reminding me "what" I truly am, who I "really" am. It brings with the small, tiny pin-prick reminders a short, millisecond long wave of disappointment, sadness, anger- a great orb filled with an immense bile of emotions that could create an endless pattern in the stars. It turns the sweetest moments bitter, causes the sun in my heart to set short, casts a dark shadow over my Earth that almost never dissipates. It resembles that one family member whom can literally never be happy for any of your accomplishments, and even tries to continually put you down after you have a deep, sit-down talk with them.. It is the sinking feeling of disappointment you get while watching the light in someone's eyes fade once you disagree with them. It brings with it a sense of failure, abandonment, hopelessness, and a myriad of conflicting powers that leave you breathless and confused. I constantly feel as if I am living an unsustainable lie. I feel that all my aspirations are so out of my reach that even me without depression, without the small things that held me back for so many long years, could not even brush my fingers against them. All of these questions, emotions, manifestations within a mere split second of my depression popping in to remind me of a happy moment. Every. Single. Day. There is not a day that passes that I am not reminded of my lingering "best friend".

Of course it helps, rarely, but worth tries, to "think positive"! It might seem odd, but I've truly had several weeks, months even of feeling completely happy- no depression! Yes!! That happens! even with a chronic illness such as depression.. There are these strange, stand-still gaps of time where your disease vanishes!! It's a time where everything is floating silently in the air around you, your breath held in tight, the hairs on your hair standing brightly at attention, and the goose-flesh rising upon your staggered arms tingle euphorically. You begin to wonder, "is this the end? Am I out of the woods?" The smallest bud of hope begins to blossom within your breast, and you breathe in deeply, almost like you're tasting the air for the very first time. Life brightens up, the wind sings to you and the grass truly seems greener- right up until the scene collapses around you. The light becomes overbearingly painful whilst the wind seems to excruciatingly shriek, befallen by the sudden shift in the universe. The floor falls out from beneath your trembling feet, and you're thrown with no direction into a parallel universe of the deepest and darkest abyssal depression you've ever experienced. You're left bare skinned and weaponless against a scourge of ghastly forsaken armies that you can't see, can't fight, can't win. You're shoved right back under the icy water with no warning. You're cries of anguish will be stifled by the numbing hopelessness that encases your entire existence. The only tangible reaction you're left with is question: "is this suffering even real? is this even pain? What is pain, if I am barely acquainted with pleasure? Is this what will be intended for me for eternity?"

I've experienced these horrible plunges back into my own darkness 4-5 times. Each time, worse than the last, naturally. However the recovery it took after each plunge became shorter and shorter. The only exception was the last era of deep depression, which lasted me about 2 years. I only recently got over it in May two months ago. This time I feel my depression has neutralized, and I am in a state of neither elated bliss, nor dark demise. I am in a "normal" place. To this blessing, I give the credit to the new medication I was placed on by my psychiatrist. It is the same medication in the same dosage that my mother takes, and it has worked wonderfully so far. Before this new prescription, I was extremely suicidal, depressed, and there was no break at all in my suffering. I could barely sleep, and the lack of structure in my life made it much easier for my depression to sink lower, and lower, and lower and lower.. There didn't seem to be a bottom to the most recent depression. I finally approached my mom through a text message, because it's painfully hard to talk about my mental state with people face to face, and told her that I was feeling suicidal to the point where it was "all I ever think about". There was literally no circumstances creating my depression, I was just simply depressed! So once the medicine worked it's magic in my brain, I felt fine! Isn't that something?!

For my mother, life has always been extremely hard for her to deal with me. I honestly have no real reason to be so depressed. Nothing within my life has enough negativity in it for me to wish to die. Nothing. There is nothing wrong with me physically except a few minor things I was also born with, but they're manageable. My darkness manifests from nothingness. It's just there. I don't hate myself, I know I have worth, I know I am loved, I know I am talented and intelligent, I am aware of my body, my image, my interests. There's no cause. *knock on wood* It makes understanding and coping so incredibly hard for my family.

This has been my story on life as an "outgoing" depressive. My passion for life is so grand and so voluptuous, my depression must simply be envious of the light in my heart, trying to shade it with negativity. This constant battle is normal for me, however not so hard these days than how it has been in the past. I'm grateful to all of those in my life, previously and currently, who support, tolerate, and love me for me. I know how hard I can be to love. I question whether or not I'm truly able to love myself at times, therefore all of the help counts, every last drop.

I'll conclude my article with a quote from one of my favorite Authors. This quote personifies almost perfectly the world of chaotic, mind numbing contradiction and plight I feel everyday. I felt similarity resonate within each word of this quote. I remember reading this for the first time, and I felt the churning within my bowels halt for a moment, replaced with the soothing feeling of familiarity, and I whispered aloud "finally...". The elephant in the room had finally been addressed.. The blank page finally had words to call it's own. Finally, there was words that described exactly, to every single aspect, how I felt. The repetition within her words screams with symbolism at me. It's an example of the insanity we feel, the heartbreak we cause ourselves willingly. Down to the very punctuation, It sums up everything perfectly.

**As a side note: Thank you Emilie Autumn Liddell, for writing a book that helped me validate that I am not alone. Thank you for putting into words what I've wondered for what seems centuries.

Sure. this may be a hefty topic for my first official article, but this is a topic I feel extremely passionately on. And in a world of constant change and storms, why not jump right in? Thank you for reading.

"There are periods when I do not listen to music for days, nor read books, nor take in art of any kind for
weeks, even months. Being eternally hungry for knowledge and experience, this fasting is especially
painful, but the pain is not nearly as strong as my fear of being yet again overwhelmed -- overtaken
by all that art and knowledge will stir within me, and all within that and all within that until I am once
again drowned. It is pain to abstain from the things one loves. I was a musician before I was born, and
yet, god, at these times, how it hurts me. Music is tears and sugar is dust and no love is enough love to
truly love and nothingness is a relief I crave."
(Emilie Autumn, pg. 222 of The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls)