I hope it's not inappropriate for me to hyperlink this, but this blog - written by one of my oldest friends - is so touching. So confronting.

http://wabiblog.com/2012/02/06/black-dog/

I very rarely stop to think about how lucky I am to have never been bitten by Churchill's naughty puppy. Everybody gets down on things in their life at times, and I get accused of it far more than most due to my insistance that self-depricating jokes are funnier than a dog on a skateboard. 2011 was more than a challenge; I consider most of that year the lowest emotional point of my life. But in the end, it was little more than dark brush-strokes buried in the canvas of a much bigger picture, especially compared with the relentless daily plights endured by people like my father and Amber.

A few months ago, an acquaintance died. She hung herself under a bridge in a public park in which many of our mutual friends had been drinking. Very few members of her inner circle had noticed the black undercurrents of her moods, the patterns of her alcahol use. It was only after the fact that people were able to piece together her continual bandaging of damaging feelings with the booze. It came as a shock to me. She was early twenties, vivid, and gorgeous. Heart-shaped face, peach-coloured dreadlocks, the picture of confidence and creativity. A mask she painted on every day.

This girl lost her battle, but there are many more still fighting her war. I admire their strength, their resilience. I don't have a scrap of that integrity in me. I know I can't stand them on my shoulders so that they may see what it's like above the waterline, but for whatever it is worth, they have my understanding, and they have my support.