I like to give things names. Sometimes it makes things easier to talk about. Sometimes it makes things funnier to talk about. Like for instance

(MAJOR OVERSHARE ALERT)

my husband and I call sex ‘sandwiches.’ As in, “hey, want to put the kids to bed, have a late supper and make some sandwiches?” Hilarious, right?

I decided that my depression needs a name too. My depression will from now on be known as Karl. And the time during which I was at my worst will be called Karl’s Terrible Visit.

Karl’s Terrible Visit has come to an end.

I’m still waiting close to the door, hoping Karl doesn’t poke his head back in because he forgot his wallet on the dresser, and could he perhaps have one more cup of coffee? But I think that even if he tried to pull a fast one on me, I’d be able to show him to the curb.

So long and good riddance, Karl. Looking forward to seeing you never again.

(I know that’s probably not likely. Karl and I, we go way back.)

Regardless, I can throw open the windows, let in the sunshine, change the sheets in the spare room where Karl took up residence for the past seven months and look forward to running my own home again.

Thank you, husband who called my doctor when I couldn’t. Thank you, Kid 1 and Kid 2, for being awesome and worth living for. Thank you, friends and family who didn’t give up on me even when I became a terrible, selfish, useless person. Thank you, pharmaceuticals, for helping my brain be just normal enough.

Thank you, me, for always believing I’d make it through somehow.

Onward to bigger and brighter things!