I only know I'm "depressed" when I can't move. That's how I was today. I'm not like that often, but today, I couldn't move. I was curled up on Johanna's bed and stared at her when she came in the room. She asked, "What?" and I couldn't respond.

I've learned grief takes many forms. I've learned depression sneaks up swiftly, and that if it were a visual something, it would perhaps look like a violent car wreck that happens when you've been driving around carefree. And before you can run away from the feeling, a monster made of helplessness and hopelessness crawls on top of you and pins you on your back.