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Depression sucks. It’s a disorder that is almost invisible so I can pass for a nearly normal, functional human being. With years of therapy, I’ve been able to cognitively work through a good chunk of my brain’s faulty wiring. Most days, I’m okay. Today’s not one of those days.

I awoke late, having set my alarm for p.m. instead of a.m., rushing to get out the door on time, only to arrive to work 40 minutes late. I turn the corner to my office suite to come face to face with my boss who is less than pleased with my arrival time.

My work day is already a game of catch up, but today’s workload is particularly chafing. Passive aggressive emails piled up in my inbox and I can barely look at the volume without wanting to cry.

Depression sucks because the things you’re supposed to do to help yourself, like talking about it with people you care about and trust, feel impossible. The words fail, because you feel like you’re a burden and wasting people’s time. So, when someone asks how you are, you lie and say “fine thanks, and you?”