I’ve created this solitude. I’m drowning in the worst depression I can remember. I’ve always tried to hide my feelings. Things, even little things, seem to dislodge my frail grip on the handle of positivity. I completely succumb to the dark side. At one time I fought with all I knew to prevent these unwelcome attacks. I did a great deal of pretending. I would say to myself, “I’m not depressed, I’m not—I’m not.” I kept covering up, pushing back, denying, in an effort to appear “normal.” When the kids were alone with me, I would be attentive, involved, interested, and warm.
