the phase of anger, not the phase of suicidal ideation—that was my rock bottom. I say this because this was the point at which I lost sight of who I was. This was the point at which the empathy I believe defines me as a person was obscured by anger and frustration. I couldn’t help how I felt, and I had learned it wasn’t my fault I felt the way I did, but I had also learned neither was it anyone else’s. While I had begun to see how difficult it was for others to cope with my depression, I didn’t know where to begin taking responsibility for myself, and I blamed the world around me for what I
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