A few words about mental health.

My family has a strong streak of clinical depression buried inside its genes, like a malignant tumor. My great grandmother suffered from it. My grandmother did.

And I have.

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I've lived through some rough depression. Suicide attempt. A week shuffling around in my socks at a mental health facility.

Years of therapy.

Am I embarrassed about any of that?

Nope.

Should I be?

Nope.

Mental health should have no more stigma than a hangnail. But some still look at it like it's a personal failing of some sort.

It isn't.

Your thought processes, your brain chemistry are in need of help. And you should get it with no qualms, just as you might that hangnail.

It's been said many times by many people, but if you are suffering, please say something to someone. Trust me, they will be more caring and receptive than you think. I know it's hard to reach out--shame, fear--but I urge you to.

And if you're the support for someone who's suffering, please be patient. My son is suffering right now, and I am admittedly not the most patient person in the world.

This message is as much for me as it is for anyone out there.

Finally, if you really need to talk and have no one or at least no one you feel you can open up to, let me know.

Depression is a horrible place to be, and I can't bear to think of anyone suffering through this alone.

My son, thankfully, has a great support system.

I'm here for you, too, if you need me.