I was looking through an old journal a few weeks ago and came across this:
The end of 6th grade saw the demise of what had been normal life for me. By the time the start of 7th grade rolled around, I had a dad who didn’t drink and took my mom and I out to dinner a few time a week, a sister in college, a brother in the army, and another brother with a stable, well-paying job. It was weird. I, instead of being happy about this, hit a funk. In fact, had I talked about this with a medical professional, they may have diagnosed me with depression.