When I was 12 years old, my cousin was killed. I started having trouble sleeping.
Looking back, that’s when my depression took hold. I couldn’t concentrate in school, and my grades slipped. I lost interest in friendships.
From that year until my early adulthood, every spring, around the anniversary of my cousin’s death, my despondency would return. My panic attacks started when I was 16; I waited until I was of legal age to add an unhealthy relationship with alcohol to the mix.