I am hanging out with a bunch of friends. We are telling jokes, laughing- generally having a good time- when it hits me. The disconnect. The fear. And it is all I can do to stop myself from making a break for it. Anywhere but here. Anything but this.

It's a twisting in my stomach, the lowering of a veil between me and the world. A hollowness. It's staring into the void and having it stare right back at you. It's writhing in the dark, shaking so violently that my body is convulsing, tears streaming down my face, and I'm screaming and screaming and there is no sound and there is no light and there is no hope.

This is not sadness. This is my particular flavor of depression with a healthy dose of anxiety.

I've zoned out. Maybe one of my friends has noticed that I'm not participating anymore, that my face has gone slack and my eyes are dead. Someone might ask if I'm OK, and for a moment I'm back. I'll twist my face into a wry smile and say, "No, not really. But this is normal for me. Thanks for asking though."

It has long been my policy not to lie about my feelings, even if they are not pleasant. Perhaps especially when they're unpleasant. I've spent so much time trapped in my own head that unpleasant is the norm. In rare moments of actual joy, there is always a small voice in the back of my head telling me that it won't last- that it never lasts. And it's always right. But nothing truly lasts forever. And my depressive episodes don't either, though sometimes it really feels like they do.

Some of my closest friends have told me that they never would have known that I have depression and anxiety if I hadn't told them. And that's part of why I'm so adamant that it is part of my public identity. I am tired of the shame, of the stigma of mental illness that comes with our society. Nobody should be shamed into hiding a part of them because it falls outside of the acceptable range of 'normal'.

Even now, with five years of diagnosis, medication, and therapy behind me, there are still mornings when I wake up and I am unable to face the world. When the mere thought of continued existence on this planet brings me unbearable pain and I cannot hold the weight of simply being alive. But by this point I have experienced it enough to know that it will pass and I will be able to breathe with ease again. I have also had the benefit of an extremely supportive family and an enormous network of some of the best friends that anyone could ask for.

I have heard other people describe depression as a lack of emotions, but that's not my reality. For me, it is more like too many emotions all at once, flooding my brain until I cannot function anymore and all I want to do is sleep because at least then I won't have to face it anymore. It is a temporary escape because there is no permanent solution. I think that's what bothers me the most about my depression- knowing that I will have to deal with it for the rest of my life. You know that line they always spout off about suicide, "it's a permanent solution to a temporary problem"? Perhaps for some people that is true. Perhaps their depression is situational. Perhaps with time and space, they truly will be able to heal. I don't believe that is the case for me.

There is nothing inherently bad about my life. Sometimes I feel like that one poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson. Richard Cory: the man with the perfect life with whom everyone is enamored. And then without warning he commits suicide. I would like to take a moment to express that I am not- nor have I ever been- actively suicidal. But I will confess to suicidal ideation: the idea that everything would be easier if I could just be dead. And that thought still crosses my mind whenever life starts getting tough. But it has gotten easier to deal with as time has passed.

Honestly I'm not really sure where I was going with this article. But lately it seems like there have been a lot of really terrible things happening, and in times like these I always get introspective. There is so much pain in the world that sometimes I forget that I don't have to bear all of it alone. We are all together, and we are capable of so many beautiful and horrific actions. This capacity is overwhelming in the best of times, and in the worst of times it is absolutely terrifying.

Did I mention that I'm an optimist? Maybe that's strange for me to say, but I am guilty of always believing in the best of people. I give the benefit of the doubt every time, and that has led to more than one occasion where I wish I hadn't decided to put my trust in people who didn't deserve it. But in the end I think that my way is a better way to live. Somewhere in between naïve and despondent. Believing in the best while being prepared to deal with the worst. I have seen both sides, and there are elements of truth in each. Only through that synthesis have I ever been able to find any sense of peace. And maybe somewhere out there someone will read my words and find some sort of meaning in them. In the end, that's what matters the most.