Depression isn't rational. I can't say I've been depressed—I'm not qualified to diagnose that. I can say I've felt so hopeless I've made an attempt on my own l

Depression isn't rational. I can't say I've been depressed—I'm not qualified to diagnose that. I can say I've felt so hopeless I've made an attempt on my own life. Thankfully, it was a pretty lame attempt (after a lot of alcohol) that I aborted, leaving only a ring around my neck as evidence. I failed to even send myself to the hospital. It's more than hopelessness. Life felt like an unbearable burden, a source of pain that would never end… until I ended it. My life wasn't actually hopeless. My problems weren't as bad as they seemed—literally the day after this began the best two or three years of my adult life. Had I been more competent, or maybe just more committed, I wouldn't have been around for that to happen. And there's no way you could've talked me into believing I'd appreciate living to see tomorrow—the very problem was I believed my life would be more of the same until I died, and I welcomed death over what I thought life had in store for me. This story cuts deep for me because I survived and this man who's contributed so much more to society than I have didn't make it. It also cuts deep because I fear going back to that place, and seeing another man fall makes me fear a little for my own life. I've done my research since: if I try again, I'm convinced I'll succeed. I'm among the most rational people I know. My own family thinks I'm just about incapable of emotion. Yet I've struggled with this. People aren't rational. Not even the rational ones.