When I was a teenager, I was diagnosed with major depressive episode.
My family was devastated and I struggled with the consequences of my condition.
After years of treatment, I started feeling better.
But I had to put a lot of things behind me to get back on my feet.
I also started to worry about my safety.
At first, I thought I was going to die.
But as I was recovering from treatment, and working through my depression, I began to understand that this illness was not going away.
I started to take care of my health.
I was able to find work, start a family, get back in the workforce, and make some progress on my recovery.
But depression can be an ongoing battle.
I can’t stress how difficult it can be to cope with this illness.
This year, I’m living with my mother.
She has been struggling with depression for the past five years, and I don’t think she’ll ever fully recover.
She’s also battling an autoimmune disease called psoriasis.
My mother and I are living with each other in a tiny apartment in a low-income neighborhood in New York City.
The home is decorated with an assortment of old pictures of me and my siblings.
I’m the only one living there, so I’m responsible for all the decor.
I don the same clothes as my sister and my dad, so they have to wear different clothes, too.
There’s a small window in the living room that leads to the front porch.
It’s a place for me to hang out and relax.
I love going to the porch.
I’ll take a walk around the yard, watch a movie, read a book, and hang out with my mom and siblings.
But it can feel a little claustrophobic sometimes, especially at night when I can hear the doorbell ring.
I try to be as close to the door as possible.
But sometimes I’m too far away and feel like I can no longer be near it.
The only thing I can do is stay close to my mom or sister and go to sleep.
Sometimes, I’ll even try to climb up a fence to reach the porch in my backyard.
I often feel that my life is in a constant state of struggle, so it’s difficult to think about the future.
I’ve been trying to get a grip on my thoughts, but I can only do so much.
I feel like if I let myself down, I will be doomed to repeat my mistakes from the past.
But when I get my thoughts under control, I find myself being happy again.
And when I feel that, I feel hopeful again.
In February, I visited a psychiatrist for the first time in four years.
I hadn’t talked to anyone about my illness for a long time, and my symptoms were so severe that I had no idea how to cope.
I felt very anxious about getting help, and didn’t know what to do to be happy.
The psychiatrist told me that I was probably just depressed, but he suggested that I try medication to help me relax and control my thoughts.
The medication is called norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor, or NRI.
It has been used by millions of people worldwide to treat depression, and its effectiveness in treating depression is widely accepted.
I took NRI in January.
I knew the medication would work, but it wasn’t something that I expected to see on my own.
I wasn’t used to having a daily dose of medication.
But with the medication, I felt more relaxed and positive.
The next day, I got back on the medication.
I went to the doctor and started taking the NRI every morning.
It was as if I had a medication injection.
By the time I was done taking it, I had almost completely stopped being depressed.
In the next two months, I went from feeling depressed and anxious to feeling more relaxed.
It took me a few months before I started being more normal.
And within a few weeks, I even started seeing my family again.
When I get back to normalcy, my family is thrilled.
They’re all supportive, and they’re proud of me.
I know that if I continue to take medication and keep my emotions under control when I go to work, my depression will get worse.
So far, I haven’t had any problems at home.
I haven’ t been struggling to work as a computer programmer or as a caregiver for my mother and sister.
My work has been relatively peaceful, though, and the stress of my illness is lessened.
I plan to continue taking NRI and getting the support I need when I return home.
But my journey to recovery has been a slow one.
I tried to find the right therapist.
I had one, but the results were not as positive as I’d hoped.
I met with another therapist in February, but she was not a great fit for me.
She was also a family therapist and didn’ t work with patients in their homes.
And the other therapist