I don't know where to start. I've been lurking here for a while, unsure the entire time of how to start. I've never been sure when's a good time to start; I've never started with another about depression. I've Always had to be engaged. I don't know how to engage on depression. I've written whole posts before. Whether they're short, or well documented and detailed progressions in my depression. And I've deleted them all. Every single thing I've written about depression has been erased to simple, random zeroes and ones on my hard drive. I don't know why I've deleted them. I've always been secretive about my depression, only opening about it at the most opportune moments (e.g., when on the topic of depression, suicide, or something related thereof), however there are a few select who know. People I trust, people I'd offer to die for, before I would ever wish to see them harmed. I don't know when, if ever, I'll have to make that offer, sometimes I wish it would be soon. Most people are afraid of death. I like to think I'm not; I like to say I'm not. I probably am though. When it comes down to it, I think my life would end with me being scared out of my wits, with nary an idea of what was happening. Or, perhaps, as the way I would wish to die, I'd die protecting someone, anybody, some random stranger, someone who deserves to live more than I. I don't know what would be said at my funeral. Maybe nothing, maybe a bunch, I wouldn't know; I'd be deceased. Encapsulated in a coffin, A mass of inanimate elements. And It's all we are. And all we ever will end up being, is a mass of inanimate elements.