I originally wrote this post for Rebelle Society years ago. It remains relevant to my depression story today, so I wanted to share it again. It expresses how despite living with chronic relapses of depression over the past 25 years, I don’t always know in the beginning of each one what is going on. I think it’s something else, usually something that’s my fault, until I finally realize it’s depression again. Depression came back. It walked right in through the front door while I was busy guarding all of the windows and cracks. It ignored the sign warning that “danger, there’s a dog here to protect me”. It sidled up…
