I knew I was depressed — it was both a concept and an illness I could define. What I could not understand was one of the features of my depression, which was the unrelenting conviction that I was not safe.
It didn’t make any sense. It was hard to reconcile this feeling with the facts: I grew up in a loving and supportive household, had a few close friends, a meaningful career and a good psychiatrist.
My fear was mostly psychological, but at times it became so intense it seemed as if I were in physical danger, as well. I did everything I could to feel safe, but little helped, and this state of mind intertwined both as a cause and an effect of my depression.
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