There aren’t many things I hate. I’m scared of bats, I don’t like eggs or nuts and I really don’t like it when people are mean or rude to others. But one thing I really do hate is depression. Depression is a thief. It steals days, weeks, months, sometimes even years. It steals people. It’s stolen my mum, my husband, a number of my friends and other family members. It steals memories. I had a wonderful childhood but there are some memories depression has claimed. It steals desire, hope, joy and energy. It steals motivation and focus. It has stolen from me time and time again. But, it hasn’t stolen me. I am merely an observer, a bystander, as it steals from my loved ones. Some struggle more with it than others. Some can cope with medication, space and friends. Some you wouldn’t even know suffer from it. But us humans are great actors. We wear convincing masks and tell convincing stories. Stories like “I’m fine” and “it doesn’t bother me” and “I’m not scared”. The gift and curse of being close to those struggling with The Thief is that you see right through those masks. The tone of voice, the faded light in their eyes, the way they hold themselves. You can read them, and you do read them out of concern if they’re OK. Sometimes you’re looking for something that’s not even there and they really are fine. But the anxiety is present until you’re convinced. It makes me sad that so many people I know struggle with depression. Ignorance may say it makes me depressed. But I know I’ve never felt that weight. Never felt that darkness. As much as I say I’d rather it be me than them, I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s not something to wish on anyone. People with depression have been campaigning to convince others that it is a real illness, it needs to be taken seriously, it needs funding for treatment. But me, I don’t need any more convincing. I’ve held my mum’s hand as we’ve walked through a crowded room and sat waiting for her to return after running away. I’ve sat with my husband during a panic attack and given him space when I’ve needed him. I have visited a friend in hospital after she put herself there. This is no joke. This is not feeling down or under the weather. This is not something you can snap out of, though I’m very guilty of wishing they just would. This is real. And I hate it. The pain it’s causing me is negligible next to the pain it’s causing them. But it does hurt me. How can it not? My days are at the mercy of my husband’s moods. My heart has been broken listening to my mum crying down the phone. My mind is stuck on whether my friend is going to die. Depression, I hate you. But you will not steal me too. I will fight you. I will shine light into the darkness you cover them with. I will speak truth into the lies you whisper in their ears. I will hold them together as you try to pull them apart. You will not win. Love will win. Hope will win. We will win. You can piss off.