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OK, this is a bit long, and more importantly, may not apply to your depression type, but, here goes:I was diagnosed with early onset (early teens) persistent dysthymic depression back when I was 30 or so. When not treated early it frequently turns into what is called 'Double Depression' which is what I have. Basically, chronic depression with major depressive episodes, which I have had numerous times.I've been battling and surviving depression for more than 35 years; Ever since I was a freshman in high school, in fact, although until I was initially diagnosed, I had no idea I had been depressed for so long.One of the things that people with depression have are, for lack of better descriptions, stunted or, more accurately, repressed emotions.Most people describe their emotional landscape in color. Depressed people describe it in shades of grey. And for those who have been depressed for a long time, they will think of that description as normal because "I've always felt this way".When Dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer, I felt only sadness. The day he died and during his memorial service, I felt nothing other than sadness; no grief anger, hell, I didn't even cry. I felt as if I were an outsider looking in. It took me about 15 or 20 years to finally cry for Dad. I think of him, and Mom, all the time. They are always in my heart, I just don't show it much, if at all.Among the list of symptoms for depression, although mentioned infrequently or not described specifically, is social self-isolation; it is not intentional, it just is. It is only one of a depressive's survival tools, although the term "survival" as a real world term is highly debatable. This almost always includes family and immediate, even close, friends. If you're curious, I suggest you perform a google search for "early onset chronic depression" and read some of the research articles.Being small (a foot shorter than everyone else in my grade) I was bullied, picked on and teased from nursery school all the way through high school: Swirlies (if you don't know what this is, look it up), literally pissed on, beaned in the head with footballs, having my face stuffed in dog shit, stuffed in high school lockers... Since I was 6 years old. Oh, and I almost forgot, some kid tried to drown me in the Los Altos Country Club wading pool when I was six years old. It's why I didn't learn to swim until I was 12.Enough said...All the time I was in high school (boarding school with my parents 6000 miles away in another country), I don't recall writing even a single letter or making one phone call, to anyone. Mom and Dad and, on occasion, my brother Peter, were always the ones to contact me. This has been the norm for me throughout most of my life.Occasional, rare, bouts of communicativeness, when I was feeling somewhat normal, were the exceptions to the rule.As far as what my life is like struggling with depression, let me give you a visualization of what it's like for me:Imagine a fortified medieval tower. It has three levels. From the outside, a normal person might see a somewhat rundown dwelling with a not well taken care for yard enclosed behind a privacy fence.From the inside, my perspective, I see the heavy, thick stone walls, and, outside, I see a morphing ring of desolation which changes in size depending on how I'm feeling that day. Far in the distance is "civilization" where all the 'normal' people live. It seems impossible to reach.There are also two doors, one is a normal wooden door you might see in any home.The other door is only seen by me. It is a heavy, rusting, iron door on rusty hinges and with what looks like an ancient, rarely used lock. The key for this door, my door, which allows only "me" to unlock it and join normal society is always elusive and rarely found.When someone visits, in other words, when I'm dealing with the public at large, they use the "normal" door. Once inside, they are only allowed to see the first level of the tower. They see a normal home and a normal person.This is my public persona, what I present myself as when I don't want people to know I'm chronically depressed, or, at the very least, pretend I'm normal. This is what most people see unless I'm in a particularly down mood, at which time they will see me as asocial, abnormally quiet or irritable.The second and third levels are where I live, in my head, most of the time.The second level is my observation room where I study the choices, actions and behavior of everyone I interact with. It's so I can figure out what everyone else is like and how I compare behaviorally.This is a highly private place where I study, learn and analyze not just people and social situations, but myself as well. I'm a highly analytical, logical, thoughtful and creative person and this is where I go to think about people, myself or solutions that need finding.For the most part, I never talk about what I learn and the opinions I form unless I really think it important to speak out. And even then, no matter how important I believe the need to be, when I do, I'll spend months, sometimes even years, thinking on it, before I speak up.The third level is where, when I am at my darkest, I hide from the world. Unfortunately, I spend more time than I would like here. There is only gray and shadows, a sort of existential twilight, with only my personal demons to keep me company. Sometimes I'll retreat there for only a few days or weeks. Other times, it could be months, or, in rare cases, years...The key to the iron door remains elusive, and I've only found it twice, once when I received my initial treatment in 1993 and the second time around 1999 or so. The first time, the door only stayed open for four or five years before it closed and I lost the key. The second time was only a year or so.Another symptom is suicide ideation, something with which I am very familiar. There is hardly a week or month that goes by where I do NOT have these thoughts. Sometimes it's as simple as hoping someone will lose control of their car and take me out while I am walking down a road. Other times it's pondering about overdosing on sleeping pills, or, ... The list goes on. This is common behavior for someone who is chronically depressed.Yet another symptom, which is very prevalent, is the loss of interest in the things you enjoy. For me, photography, camping, cooking and reading, among others. I've been in New England for a year now and I've only taken a dozen or so photos. I simply don't care enough to do more.Even so, there are a lot of things in which I have succeeded. For example:Performing QA inspection on night vision and other opto-electronic technologies for Navy SEAL Team 6 and giving presentations to Navy Lt. Colonels on those technologies.Starting my technical support career at a senior level, without a bachelor degree in computer science (level 4 at Sony Electronics) instead of as a level 1 call center rep.Performing final inspection, among many other types of inspections, of the U.A.R.S satellite built by Lockheed and launched in 1993 or 1994 to study the ozone holes, among other projects, some classified, that were included on that spacecraft. During this process I became a NASA Certified Solder and Circuit Board Inspector. I was even a part of the team that helped to build one of the projects included on the craft.After being laid off from Lockheed, I started over as a mailroom trainee and worked my way up to Office Services Manager in two years. This included being asked back to the site where I started and saving the contract due to poor customer service levels as defined by the contract. I was given 90 days and had all issues resolved within 60. I was also the first Ikon Office Solutions Manager in the SF bay area to break the 1 million copies per month record. In order to do this, I taught and mentored my crew in such a way that they would work an 80 hour week at the drop of a hat because they knew that no matter what, I always had their backs. District managers poached more than a half dozen people from my team in order to run their own sites, to become leaders in their own right, because they performed so well under my leadership.Learning how to ride a horse, buying one, training for six months, then riding 60 miles right over the the Santa Cruz mountains from Cupertino to Big Basin Beach in 13 hours.Writing a 250 page training manual for a never-before-done hybrid TV/DVR service and presenting the material to new level 1 and 2 support reps in six weeks with a 98 percent pass rate, consistent for all subsequent classes given.Training Cable and Satellite Enterprise-level Engineers in Vienna, Warsaw and Dublin, Ireland on new interactive TV software and hardware technologies.Learning about tradeshow logistics and technical design and planning, on the fly, and receiving compliments from the CEO on how well each event went.All of this, and more, while fighting and surviving depression. So, there is always hope.But, it's hard to win the battle when the enemy lives in your head.Some have chosen to think of me, or other people with depression, as a coward; I choose to think it of as avoidance of the uncomfortable, something very typical of people with depression. This, and the resultant guilt are only two of my personal demons. The rest I choose not to discuss.Lastly, I had an alcohol related car accident back in October 2011.What I didn't tell my family and friends until recently, although maybe they suspected, is, that was the day I made the decision to kill myself. I had recently gotten laid off, again, due to the company being sold. My life was in shambles and I saw no solutions. My life was over: I felt used, abused and worthless.So, I decided to have two or three expensive single malt scotches, which I did, then, intentionally drove my Honda Civic into a pole at about 60 MPH, without a seatbelt, of course.Fortunately, I failed and woke up in a hospital with a concussion, eight stitches in my head, and four broken ribs with many of my friends waiting outside. Of things in which I have failed, I certainly failed at that, and, thankfully so.