Depression runs in my family. I grew up hearing stories and seeing family members sink into low moods for extended periods of time.
When I was in high school, the “black dog,” as Winston Churchill called it, finally paid a visit to me. It was the spring semester of my senior year. (Between 20 and 30 years old is when most people experience their first major depressive episode; at 18, I was about on schedule.) I had been super busy balancing AP classes, student council, church youth activities, and work. I guess all the stress caught up to me (research shows that prolonged periods of intense stress can set off a depressive episode). At first I thought it was just burnout, something I had experienced and recovered from before. But as the weeks passed, I started feeling more and more down. There came a point when I just felt emotionally numb. I didn’t feel sad or happy — just gray from the time I woke up to the time I went to bed. Motivation was non-existent. Simply going through the motions of school and work was an exercise in pure will. I just wanted to stay in bed and not do anything.
via Leashing the Black Dog: My Struggle With Depression | The Art of Manliness.
An American Point of View 