Emerging from depression always feels like a monumental thing, like finally seeing the beam of the lighthouse through the dark and violent storm, like that first breath of fresh air after finally being able to dig yourself out of the hole you thought this time you'd surely drown in, pulled down by roots and debris, choking on dirt, the smell of damp earth stuffing your nostrils.  

Maybe it’s not all that dramatic, but it is something pretty special. It feels like a relief honestly, the shedding of weight. I revel in the fact that I can once again do simple chores, things like laundry and vacuuming, preparing myself healthy food, writing this column. Things that are not really all that monumental in them of themselves, but feel that way because just last week I couldn't do any of them.

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