Julie Barton with her dog, Bunker Credit: Heather Knape The thoughts would not stop: step in front of that oncoming bus. Find all the pills and swallow them. It was 1996, and I was 22 years old and dangerously depressed, but I didn’t know it yet. I just knew that waking up in the morning was getting increasingly difficult, and that I regularly contemplated ending my own life.
This first depressive break was the worst because I didn’t know what was happening. I had moved to Manhattan two weeks after graduating from college. I grew up in Ohio and couldn’t wait to relocate to the big city. I wanted to write and be cultured, urban, and hip. But soon after moving to New York , my boyfriend broke up with me, I gained 20 pounds, and harsh New Yorkers regularly brought me to tears.
One day, I came home from work, […]