I don't think I have ever been truly happy. I'm not even sure I could recognize happiness if it waved to me in a coffee shop and said, "Hi, I'm happy." 
I think I know sadness... I could pick it out of a lineup without ever having seen it.
We live together, after all.  
When my family asks, " Well, what are you anxious and sad about?"
I just want to tell them that depression was my first friend and later he decided to introduce me to worry.
We have been like the three musketeers for as long as I can remember, maybe ever since I knew I should be worried about the locks on my front door.
Or in ninth grade when I would come home for a week and go straight to bed after school.
Depression lulled me to sleep, but I think even then we knew this wasn't normal.
"Well, why don't you go on a walk or to the library?"
It is not that I don't want to go and believe me, I thought about it. I have spent the last two hours saying I will go in thirty minutes. 
But, some days I just don't want to exist and it takes everything in me to decide to.
It's not what you think... it's not that I always want to die but sometimes I don't think I'm living.
I have to check my pulse because I'm not even sure.