When I hear women lament their evolution into their own mothers, I stand silent. I am *not* turning into my mother.
I'm never going to wake up seven inches shorter, one hundred pounds heavier, and with thick, black, curly hair. I'll never hear the words, "You look just like your mother."
But the differences are more than just physical. Our personalities are just as different as our faces, if not more so.
Severe clinical depression held her back, suppressed her personality, took away her will to do...anything. It took away her will to get off the couch, her will to be present, her will to socialize, her will to live.
Depression stopped her from finding the joy in life's every little moment. Days and weeks and months passed her by as she slept, a prisoner to the demons in her mind.
I don't know why fate spared me the curse of depression, but I'm thankful it did. I wouldn't want to miss an opportunity to enjoy tea with Alice.