I wrote this a while back for a writing class, where it got a lot of praise. The class itself seemed like a good way to vent without hurting people, and was like a group therapy of sorts. I put this here now because I thought it fit in with the theme and that maybe you'd enjoy it.

I ask myself why I let most of my time be swallowed up by Depression. So much of this test-taking time was spent mulling over the questions and then built up into ruminations about my "tragic" life. Knowing I will never get anywhere in life if I continue to do poorly on these tests in Dr. Reno's Abnormal Psych class is gnawing at my brain stem.
All I want to do now is escape to...somewhere. To a galaxy far, far away... Yeah... To a place in the Star Wars universe. I want to escape, maybe with Luke Skywalker, the biggest hero that ever there was, to a nice planet. Coruscant, the city-planet and home to the Jedi Council and Galactic Senate chambers, or Endor, the forest moon and home to the furry little teddy bears known as Ewoks. Heck, I'd even go to Tatooine, the desert planet, home of the moisture farmers. I think I'd do well as a Jedi or something. Bringing good into people's lives, expelling evil. Creating peace, destroying the Sith. Maybe even marrying Luke Skywalker.
My Luke fantasies drive out all concentration on the test and my eyes glaze over in distraction. I'm at a loss for what the answers are. The only way to avoid getting hurt is to retreat into my own little dream world and recline on a bunk in the Millennium Falcon.
The test is soon over and I know that I have failed. I go home in tears and talk to my dad, who is almost like an in-home therapist because he had gotten his Masters Degree in Psychology, and we decide that we'll go see Dr. Reno together later in the week after class.
The next few days are hectic. I'm nervous, frightened, and basically depressed. I am depressed mostly because Dr. Reno shows us a video on post-traumatic stress syndrome. The man in the video explains the depression just as it is. It's as if no one cares what happened to him when he came back from the war in Vietnam. He feels like a "cog in the wheel," unimportant, basically useless.
I know how this man feels. I have felt it myself. I know the feeling of being useless. I know the feeling as if no one cares. I know the feeling of being unimportant. I know this because I once wanted to help in backstage crew in high school for a play we were doing. The teacher that put on the play and helped with its direction told me they could use me. But when I got there, the other teacher in charge said they didn't need me. At that moment, I hid in another, empty, room and cried. I was at the peak of my frequency in depression and melancholic episodes. I was dressed in black, and it was nighttime, and it was raining, but I left the high school and walked all the way to the opposite side of town, and back home. From there on, things went downhill.
That day of the meeting comes and I am nervous. Nervous because that's just the way I am. I get nervous about the most trivial things. But I have no room in my life for trivialities, I think to myself.
After the class, in which I kept looking at my watch to see if the class was going to come to an end yet (it seemed to take forever!), I see my dad standing outside the classroom door. I rise from my seat and let him in just as the rest of the class heads out.
We are now standing in front of Dr. Reno, whose bald head is looking down at some papers he has to grade. He looks up expectantly, stares at us through his wire-rim glasses, and then I finally introduce him to my dad. Some time snakes by in silence, prolonging the awkwardness of this meeting. To begin with, my dad does most of the talking. He explains that I had been experiencing some discomfort and test anxiety. Every time he says something that is correct to what I was feeling, I nod. Then, when I put my two cents in, telling him about the test I had failed only days before, Dr. Reno says, in his funny Texan accent, "Remember what I told you all at the beginning of the course?" and without waiting for an answer, he adds, "I told you that because of some of these case studies, you might feel some 'symptoms' Some students start diagnosing themselves with things like anxiety and depression..."
We explain some more about my "condition." We explain the history of my depression, its chronic impact on my life, and me constantly sparring with it during hard times. We also mention that during these times, when the least little thing happens, such as failing the test, I get severely depressed and fall into a pit of despair that is hard to climb out of, which ruins the entire day for me. During those times, I often come home early because I'm in too much pain to go on through the rest of the day and too distraught to go to the rest of my classes.
He sighs and drums his fingers against each other, leans forward, and nods. "Holly, have you seen Star Wars?"
I look at my dad and the light of a new hope brightens his eyes. My heart feels less pain just hearing these words. I smile and nod vigourously.
Dr. Reno continues: "Do you remember, in the Empires Strikes Back when he's in the cave?"
"Yeah," I say, just to say something.
"Remember what he does?"
I recall the event with ease. "He chops of Vader's head, then the helmet explodes and he sees his own face."
"Right." Dr. Reno knows what he's talking about; he then says: "Right now I think that's where you are. In the cave. You just have to find your way out."
The rest of the talk goes smoothly. Dr. Reno makes some suggestions for easing the stress and pain while in class. He seems very familiar with my kind of case; he is, after all, an abnormal psychology teacher, an expert at what he does. My dad and I thank him for his time and I leave for my next class thinking about what Dr. Reno said.
Speaking metaphorically, I should've left my weapon outside the cave, as Luke was supposed to, but, being a lot like him, my fear of the unknown took the best of me and I brought my lightsaber into the cave, then, hearing the familiar heavy and raspy breathing of my depression, hacked at it only to find myself behind that scary mask. Am I afraid of myself? I guess I am, in a way. But I am also afraid of failure.
At least right now I can put a name to my fears. I guess that's the knowledge gained from my face-off with Depression in the cave.
And I guess next time I should be wise enough to lower my defenses before I enter the cave. Then I won't have to find out what lies beyond the mask of Depression and Failure.

There you go. Now you know about my chronic condition. I still suffer on occasion, but I try to take my cues from Yoda; fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering... From my own fear I reap my own suffering. I hope I can change my life into a much happier and painless ending.
Pray for me that the Lord and Lady give me the calm strength of the Jedi.

May the Force be with us all,
Orillia Darkstar