I never thought depression would happen to me. I naively thought that depression affects those who have something traumatic happen in their lives. I will admit that was completely uneducated as to how depression affects us. That was until it affected me.
When my maternal grandfather passed away in 1997 my family was devastated. Not only did we lose someone we loved immensely but we lost the glue that held our fragile family together. Over the past ten years that side of my family had deteriorated to virtually non-existent. No visits, not even Christmas or Birthday cards. Essentially my mother cut herself off from her family - justly I believe - which percolated down the line leaving my brother and I without contact with our extended family on the maternal side.
When all this began, I unintentionally found out that my mother had sought out professional help by ways of Prozac. She, seemingly embarrassed, brushed it off as nothing. I didn't see it as nothing; instead it was the embarrassed part that stuck with me. I began to worry about her because OMG! My mother is medicated. She's losing her shit! was the mentality of depression.
The social stigma of depression classified my mom as a nut job.