I have struggled with depression most of my life.

This admission may come as a bit of a surprise to most of the people who know me well.At an early age, I learned to stuff my gloomy emotions way down and put on my happy face around others so as not to bring them down with me.I was often accused of having an "attitude" or of never being "satisfied with anything" when my face gave me away and the false interpretations of my "mood" often got me into hot water in school or with my father.I wasn't allowed to cry because then, I would get "something to cry about."I witnessed other members of my family who also suffered from depression often spend many days in bed shutting themselves down and shutting out everything and everyone else.Often meals were skipped, along with showers, for days.As a teenager I was able to mask as well as treat my depression by using drugs and alcohol; but when I became a mom at age 18, I stopped all of that.I knew my life was no longer about me.I did not have the luxury of choosing to spend days at a time in my pajamas hiding under the covers.Some years later, I sought counseling and the doctor prescribed medication.After several weeks, I started to feel better but strange at the same time.About a week before my prescription ran out, I called the doctor's office to make an appointment and left a message.Two days later, another message.A week later, and yet another message.By now, my emotions were in absolute turmoil from stopping my medication cold turkey.I was suicidal.The only thing that kept me from checking out was that beautiful blond-haired beauty of mine who loved and needed me; and so, I trudged on.Eventually someone called me to tell me that the doctor had died in a fire and that I should seek out another doctor.It was pure hell coming off those meds in that manner and I vowed I would never take anything like that again.Fast forward a few years to some chaotic and uncertain times.It was about two months from my wedding and my job was so demanding that I really didn't have any time to make the necessary preparations.In addition, we were remodeling the house to be able to accommodate my father who would be coming to live with us after the wedding.I had transferred from accounts payable to intercompany accounting and was traveling to New York City (along with several others) to receive training from people who would be losing their jobs.I was stuck there twiddling my thumbs because one of my "trainers" decided to take an early maternity leave and the other simply never showed up.After a couple of weeks, I was back at the office with no idea what to do.I could not make heads nor tails of any of it, and that combined with the upcoming wedding, renovations, taking care of my daughter and future stepdaughter, sent me on such a downward spiral that I ended up shaking and sobbing in the ladies room. One day I walked out of the bathroom and into the human resources office and quit.To my surprise, they told me to take a month off to do what I needed to do and to give myself time to feel better and get back on track. As a bonus, they continued to pay me.Since then the bouts have come and gone.Fortunately, I was able to put on that face and function pretty well.Until recently.No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't conceal or contain the despair and gloom.I kept trying to remind myself that it would go away, that it would be over soon and that life would return to normal and joy would fill my heart once again.It got to the point where I just couldn't fight it any longer and essentially just sobbed, sometimes publicly, for three days straight. When it seemed like I was going to go completely under, a simple text message from my husband changed everything.Due to working opposite shifts, we do not see very much of each other, so when he leaves for work, he will usually give me a call or send a text.To fully appreciate the gravity of his text I must tell you that my husband is obsessive-compulsive about milk being left out of the refrigerator, even if just for two minutes.If it is, he will complain that it is warm, gag (sometimes mockingly and sometimes I am not so sure) and insist it is already curdled.On this day, the text went like this, "I ate cereal with bad milk. I have to shave my tongue. Stomach gurgling."A picture came into my mind: a scrunched-up face, a shudder and then a prolonged episode of actual gagging accompanied by the dramatic flailing of arms and shouts of horror while stomping his feet and running in place like Jennifer Beals in "Flashdance" (She's a Maniac) followed by the purging of said cereal and milk into the garbage can.And I lost it.From the very depths of my soul I began to LAUGH OUT LOUD.So very loud.So loud that the people outside heard me and looked through my window to see what was going on.I laughed and howled and cried and coughed.My stomach and ribs began to hurt and I couldn't breathe, and it was marvelous.This went on for a couple of minutes until I could compose myself enough to call him.When he answered the phone, I burst out laughing again.He began to explain his harrowing ordeal to me and the whole time I was choking from laughter and had tears streaming down my face.By the time we ended our conversation, I was sore and spent and joyful once again.As strange as it may seem, this bout of depression was immediately and finally over.I stepped outside, breathed in the spring air, closed my eyes and felt the sunshine on my face.How lucky am I to be married to a man who not only can make me laugh but who, at the same time, heals my soul.