She sits across from me, only a coffee table with Tarot cards between us. As she speaks, I sit motionless, afraid to interrupt her thoughts, answering only in the briefest of terms so as not to be leading in any way. Society has conditioned us to be skeptical of anything other than cold, hard fact. But I have a burning need to know what happened to me on that fateful day.
So, as it turns out, I have depression. Well, actually, I 'HAD' depression, but now that I'm 'all better,' I can tell you about it. The reason I didn't know I was depressed was because I was happy. Or, at least, I felt like I 'should' be happy. After all, we're in our dream house now. I've never lived anywhere as beautiful as this.