Hi everyone! I chose this title because it is just as it is for me. It is most fitting and appropriate. I was probably first diagnosed with depression around age 14 shortly after my first suicide attempt. I was close, but here I am anyway. Fast forward to present day, and I have seen many counselors/therapists and psychiatrists. I've been on and off meds for most of my life. Nothing seems to work because I am still depressed. My family and husband don't understand why because I have most of the things in life that other people want. I should be blissfully happy, right? Well no, I am not. I often think about death. I pray for it. I welcome it. BUT I won't really do anything to take my own life unless I can disguise it as something other than a suicide like an accident. My depression is interfering in my ability to be a wife and mother. I fear my husband will leave me and my son will someday attempt suicide too. You see, I have passed this awful trait on to my child. He, too, has depression and is in counseling. He shared with me that he hates living. My son hates life and lashes out in anger because he must endure the pain of living. I couldn't agree with him more but of course I cannot say that to a young teenager. I found it difficult to muster the strength to find and share the beauty of living with my son. I think the way he does or rather he thinks the way I do. Do you see the problem here? I think about death several times a week now. I pray for it. I welcome it like one welcomes springtime after a long, hard winter.