A year ago, if you'd tried to speak to me, my reply would have been brief. Single words or phrases at most. If you'd looked into my eyes, you would have seen exhaustion and grief. I was someone who looked like they'd given up. I was broken and battered, barely making it from day to day. I wandered through my life, hardly there at all. Inside, there was nothing. My brain had stopped turning and was set on auto pilot. I've never before experienced such silence. It was like everything had shut down. My internal voice took a vacation. Depression has a way of eating away at you until it feels like there is nothing left. There were times when I couldn't speak at all, either because I just wasn't physically able to, or because it seemed pointless to even try. There was nothing to say. A room in hell with only your name on the door. That's a pretty good way of describing it. It is most definitely a solitary illness, one that people can't se...