"My son, my Son".


"I have not mentioned the stage called depression--the English poets called it melancholia--because it is really more of a constant companion, lurking within your psyche for days and then springing like a wolf at your throat because of some slight, or the breaking of a shoe lace or even the stubbing of a toe. Its lease on its lair in your subconscious can endure for years. Its antidote, I learned, is contact with people who care."

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Depression is! We can discuss the degrees, the frequency, the many causes...the effects are the same. It drags you down and tries to pull you under. And fighting it can be exhausting! Survivors win the fight...sometimes one hour at a time.
The allure of suicide is a cruel joke.
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