For me, depression is something incredibly personal to me. Even more than anxiety, depression is something that I have struggled with intimately for my entire life. The first time that I recall feeling depressed was in the sixth grade. For a large part of my eleventh year, I had persistent and painful depressive thoughts. I thought that I was worthless, that life lacked meaning, and I felt very hopeless. My parents took me to a couple of child psychologists; needless to say, none of the psychologists worked out. The first therapist tried to immediately diagnose me with OCD, asking me about my behaviors and ticking them off furiously on a note sheet, while she sat stiffed back in a formal office. The second therapist initially comforted me with her playful office and friendly demeanor, but then scared me away by asking me deeply personal questions during our second session, before we had any time to build up trust. Those two experiences scared me off therapy for a long time, and it wasn’t something that I …