- 08 February, 2018
Posted In : Blog , Volunteer, volunteering
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I am a survivor of clinical depression. I confess.
I screamed at my parents, every day, every hour. I confess.
I blacked out during my first year college exams. I confess.
Shaggy hair. Unchanged clothes. Ugly crying through the night. Pills swallowed and a blade hidden under my mattress. I confess.
It was scary. It was grotesque. It was madness. I confess.
Though that changed. Not over a day. Not over a single mail. Not over a single orientation. It took a week, a few months and a couple of years.