I’m no stranger to depression, I’ve dealt with it my whole life. I never planned my wedding as a young girl, but I often planned my funeral. I knew one was a choice and one was inevitable. I’ve been called morbid on more than one occasion, but I consider myself a realist.

Realistically, I have many reasons to feel depressed. I’ve had experiences that were so uncomfortable I didn’t want to be present and some so traumatic they’re only accessible through triggers. I have always felt like an outsider struggling to find substance and meaning in day to day life and routine, but time has taught me that nearly everyone feels this way, at least occasionally.

So my adult life has been a battle to act normal; to not focus on the negative, not take other’s actions so personally, make sense of my confusing journey, and let go of my anger. The fact that I’ve made it into my 30’s is a testament to my improved attitude, and the incredible people who have helped me overcome so much self-loathing.

I think that’s what depression looks like in me; a shitty disposition fueled by self-loathing and anger. When externalized it becomes a fight to see who hates me more, other people or myself.

It’s hard to admit when I feel lonely or disconnected from the world. It’s impossible to say “I’ve thought of 6 different ways to kill myself this morning, and even though I’m pretty sure I’m not going to do it, I’m scared.” What’s even harder to admit is why I would feel this way.

So when someone comes into my life who gets it, I mean really gets it, they can have a huge impact on me.

That’s how my friend was, but despite having his own serious reasons for depression he was inexplicably kind and vehemently altruistic. Just spending time with him made me want to be a better person.

He trusted me with his deepest secrets and fears. He brought me into his family and introduced me to my future partner. He taught me to be kinder to myself. He wanted me to invest in my health, and personal success. And for all this he asked nothing but for me to seek my potential and love myself better.

When he died suddenly, despite all the great people surrounding me, I felt completely alone. I allowed my pain and anger to isolate me. I convinced myself I was fine, but became increasingly withdrawn from the people in my life.

Amazingly, my partner stuck by my side as I fought this invisible war with myself. My self esteem plummeted, my social anxiety mounted, and my health declined. I lost my sense of wonder and spontaneity and no longer wanted to leave the house. I ignored my favorite Chicago seasons, letting spring and summer pass behind windows and pulled curtains.

Finally, at the end of winter, I did something spontaneous. I agreed to take a hit of LSD and watch Akira in 35mm film at a midnight showing with my partner and some friends. (If you’ve never seen the film, here’s an article that might give you some reference).

The movie was a bit intense and I found myself in the bathroom looking in the mirror. I’d heard this was a bad idea, and I didn’t want other patrons to notice if my behavior was odd, so I only stole a glance at myself. Instead of the usual slew of imperfections and blemishes, my eyes were drawn to the intricate beauty of my own skin. This somehow made me feel calmer as things got stranger around me.

The Uber ride home was fantastic and I found the quieter my surroundings the more visually stunning everything became. When we got home my partner’s friend brought out some geode pieces and I was immediately drawn to them. The crystal formations were violet amethyst like my birthstone. He told me they may have even been found in the Ozark Mountains, where I spent my childhood.

As I held them in my hands I could see the invisible fabric that weaves through the universe projecting from them; shifting geometrical patterns echoing every work of art, natural wonder, and man made marvel. It was so powerful, so beautifully stunning, that I handed them back after only a few seconds.

I was left marveling at their broken perfection. If the geodes wouldn’t have been shattered, I would have seen nothing but rough, unsightly rocks. If they would have stayed safe, stayed whole, no one would know how what was shining inside them.

Tears rolled down my face as I took the lesson to heart. I suddenly understood that those who loved me could see what I couldn’t. I didn’t feel damaged by my past anymore, I felt liberated by it.

I stepped into my bathroom and looked myself in the eye. For the first time in my life I wasn’t uncontrollably repulsed by this decision. Instead, I saw turquoise moons with yellow flecks of stardust. I saw the universe in myself, and I wanted to scream “I love you!”

I didn’t scream, though. I spent the rest of the trip with my partner, laying in bed as we watched the painting on the wall morph waiting for sleep to find us.