I was 16 when I realized something was wrong. I first became aware of the fact that I was depressed 10 years ago. Depression was a foreign concept to me because, y’know, Black millennial girl with Gen X and Boomer parents with generational trauma.
I had a loss of interest, was always crying, and was generally a mess. My best friend said she thought I had depression, and I said, “No, I’m just going through a rough spell.
I’m fine.” Obviously, and this is something she’s heard continually throughout our friendship, she was right and I was wrong.
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