I’ve been living with depression since I was 13.

It appeared one day, suddenly and totally unsuspectedly. Slowly, it managed to creep into my life. Gradually, and without being given much attention, it found a nest and decided to stick around. It took some time, some long time, but eventually it became something else I had to learn to handle and live with. But not everyone is so lucky, and not everyone gets to tell that story.

It also was never a secret. I tend to share my experiences living with it (some funny, some less so), and since depression is a part of my life, I made it a point to always be open to talk about it.

In meetings or talks. In random Facebook posts. Those stories and struggles were shared with others and the best part of it was that they led to great conversations and people feeling comfortable with sharing their own tellings, takes and stories.

And there's always something that happens and that I find interesting. Always one of the first comments and replies go usually along the lines of “I’d have never picture you living with it”.

And I get their point. People tend to watch you from afar, and what they see is what you opt to share. They watch you accomplishing things and going on with your life. They see the events you speak at, and read your updates and funny quips. They follow you through that digital presence that showcases your highs but usually downplays the lows.

But then again, we usually never talk about what’s behind all of that, and that’s perhaps the most important conversation we are all missing.

During this time, I’ve met tons of people that are going through the same. I’ve also met lots of them that sometimes didn’t make it.

Worse yet, I’ve seen how most of them feel about depression. How they have been taught to see it as a sign of weakness. The condition you shouldn’t talk about, or you'd risk getting new looks. Of being reappraised. And that’s just plain wrong.

Depression can be a heck of a thing to live with. It can be gone for months, but then one day you wake up, and then it is back, and there you are, lying on your bed, nothing else seemingly important.

You feel empty. Things that used to be passions become diluted, and you feel like watching your life evolve from underwater. Games and books and code and meetings get jarring. Tedious. Whatever brought you joy now seems to take too much of an effort to just try to attempt.

And so you don’t. And you feel notifications pilling in, with tasks that ever remain undone. And you grow to kinda hate yourself at those times. Even if just a bit. Because even then, there’s a part of you that wants to keep building and doing things. And yet, and here’s the key point, you just can’t.

In many cases, the feeling is eventually gone. And you regroup and you move on. Other times it remains, but it subdues and you go on, slowly. Some decide to look for therapy, or meds or making changes in their lives. Every journey through depression is different, and everyone’s case needs to be handled on its own.

If you’re lucky, you learn to live with it again. You find your code there, ready to be finished. Your plans start to get together again and so much work is done. And you feel fine. You can even feel great. But not always. Not evenly.

Sometimes you have to wear a mask. You have to smile for others. Or joke. You force yourself to feel, even if you don’t actually do. You push yourself to be there, even if you know it’s not real. And that kinda helps to keep you going. To know there’s another day. To know you can do great things again, give cool talks and keep accomplishing things.

It becomes just a part of you. Something you learn to work around. Something you understand. Nothing that can actually stop you. Perhaps.

Depression is nothing to be ashamed of, if we don’t let it to be. It’s just you being you. A part of you. And you can go on. You do. You keep on building. Talking. Creating. Till the next time. And then you do it again. But this time, just know you are not alone.

Looking for help is not a sign of weakness, but a feat of strength.