Greetings from Depression

I was fifteen years old, set to fail four of my classes at school, but I could barely get out of bed, much less drag myself to the bathroom and take a shower. At first, my parents were worried, treating me gently, but after a few weeks their patience began to run out. And that's when it started. "Snap out of it." "Just go for a run, you'll feel better." "Why don't you talk to your friends?" "Quit feeling sorry for yourself." "What do you have to be sad about? Other people have it worse." Words that, even after ten years of therapy, medication, a stint in a psychiatric ward and many, many relapses of depression, still ring in my ears. Anywhere, anytime, every day. And they still cut just as deep.