Aunt Millicent

I haven’t posted for a while because I’ve been too depressed. I’ve suffered from occasional bouts of severe depression since I was eleven. When I tell people this, they sometimes look at me as if to say, “Everyone gets depressed—get over it.” But this is different from what most people feel. It’s not an emotion. It’s something that descends on your brain and makes it hurt to think. Yesterday, in hopes of making it less scary, I decided to give my depression a pet name. I named it “Aunt Millicent.” I thought it wise to pick a pretty name. Sylvia Plath had a pet name for her depression too—“Johnny Panic”—but it wasn’t a pretty one and look what happened to her. Meanwhile, Aunt Millicent has outstayed her welcome and I've told her to pack her bags.