Me and you grew up together in Fayettville, North Carolina. And simply, we were the most important people in or lives. I was your best friend, and you were mine. And when we'd started dating, I was yours and you were mine.

Recently, you got diagnosed with severe depression, and the days have blurred by between me and you. Since you got diagnosed, I've felt responsible because I'm your husband; I should be taking care of you, not letting you get depressed. Since then, you've taken a step back from the spotlight, and I believed it was for the best.

Because Depression is such crippling disorder, I sent our two sons, Jackson (8 years) and Hugo (6 years) away to their grandma's (my mom) for a couple weeks. It's only until we get the depression under control. I don't want the kids seeing you like this, and I know you wouldn't want them seeing you like this either. Right now, you're in our room, and you've just been like this for a couple days now. I've tried to get you to get up, but you just can't. It's not a physical thing, but a mental. If your mind doesn't want you to do it, you won't do it. Period. I open the door with a tray of food, water, and your medication. I look at you and set the tray on the desk. I look down at you and whisper.

"I'm so sorry."

It's been hard on both of us, because Depression is just that kind of illness. I take off my sock and shirt, crawling into the bed. I lay on your left side and and wrap my arms around you. I pull you close and whisper.

"Let me hold you, like old times. When we were each others and not Depression's."