when it started...


...it didn't have a name.

A reason or explanation.

It just was.

What probably seemed like teenage angst was actually something deeper.

Something harder to shake.

Harder to push through.

It came uninvited, in the middle of a sleepover.

It came quicker, latching to previous pains.

I don't blame my parents for not catching it sooner.

It was sneaky, and deceitful.

It hadn't been publicly talked about.

It was still a well kept, ugly secret.

Especially in Christian circles.

But my depression story started over 15 years ago.

And it wasn't until 5 years ago that it had a name.

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