The year of Happy

I've always disliked the word "depression", it brings to mind paralyzing fear and no showers and never getting out of bed and people that are always alone. I'm a well-read person so I know this isn't always true but the word always makes me feel clammy and anxious and well, depressed. I like to pretend that what happens to me isn't depression, is just that I don't check where I'm going and suddenly  I fall into a black hole that's hard to get out of.

The first time I fell into a hole I was 14, between the hormones, the change of school and pretending to be someone I wasn't, the hole was a nice warm place where I didn't have to feel anything. The second time, I was in my sophomore year in college where I spent my time constantly dueling with extreme desires. The third time, I was 31 and my dreams had collapsed around me and my heart was broken in so many pieces I didn't think I'd ever climb out. This three big holes (more like craters actually) don't negate the existence of the smaller ones I've constantly tripped into throughout my life.