Well, I guess the time has finally come. After 8 years of ups and downs and serious contemplations of suicide (and 2 attempts under my belt), I have set up my first appointment with a psychiatrist. I don't feel crazy. I guess I don't remember ever feeling any different than I do now. But everyone I talk to tells me I need help. I wish I could put what I'm thinking into words, but I'm not sure how to articulate it. I suppose I'm worried that I'll be turned away--told that I'm perfectly normal and that I just need to suck it up and deal with it. But at the same time, it worries me more that I'll be given a prescription. That I'll always have that label of being "crazy", being less than everyone else. Call it what you want: chemical imbalance, mental weakness, etc. I am more afraid of becoming a label than I am dealing with my own depression. I'm not afraid to die. I jumped that hurdle years ago. Does that mean I want to die? I'm not sure, to be honest. I've always had a desire to learn new things in my life. Up until now, it consisted mostly of history and politics. But now, the only thing it seems that keeps my interest is the afterlife. I wonder if it's depression that drives me to suicidal thoughts or simply my natural curiosity. Now I lie here, kept awake by the thoughts of what might happen tomorrow. Am I crazy? Is my brain "defective"? I don't know any other way of thinking. This is who I am. Do I even want to change that? Yeah, I spend a majority of my time sad and lonely, but that's not to say I don't enjoy some parts of my life. I guess I'm just afraid. Afraid to live. Afraid to die. But for now, I'll see what tomorrow brings.