Depression is an abyss that almost everyone teeters on the brink of at some point in their lives. As we stand on the edge, there is one person, the person we love the most, who stands in front of us and holds on so we don't fall over the edge, into the chasm so deep and dark that we can't see the bottom till it's an inch from our face--and then it's too late to be saved. If the person at the top lets go or if our hand slips from theirs, we go slipping down into the darkness from which we will never return the same, if we return at all. Sometimes, they will slip and fall, too, because we were steadying each other. On the way down, other people may throw us ropes and try to haul us back up. It is our choice whether to grab on to these ropes or not. And sometimes, these ropes snap. Sometimes we forget they are there, don't grab the rope, don't call their names.

If we are just seconds from hitting the bottom and there is no hope, the ones at the top and along the sides cling to each other and pray it doesn't hurt too much. It always hurts.

The people on the way down scramble down to reach us and they mourn and cry because they believe it is hopeless, we are gone forever.

Very rarely, people survive hitting the bottom. Sometimes they clamber up the edges, trying to get out. Sometimes they imagine a small light into existence and wait for someone to rescue them. And sometimes they just wait to die.

I know a lot of people who are standing on the edge of this cliff. I am standing on the sides, waiting for them to fall, hoping they don't. I am holding their hands, balancing them on the edge, telling them not to let go.

Everyone is a lifeline for someone.