The hardest part for me was agreeing to go see a doctor because I didn't think I had a 'good enough' reason to be depressed (pro tip: sometimes there's no good reason for it, just bad brain chemistry). I went to my usual doctor, an old Russian woman. She laughed and asked if I felt like wanting to kill myself. I laughed nervously and said, "Uh.. yeaah?" She referred me to a counselor, and started me on some anti-depressants which she said would take a week or two to kick in. The first counselor didn't work for me, he was too molly-coddling. The second guy was a more practical type, told me that starting an exercise routine would help and he'd know if I was lying about sticking to it. I took up swimming, twice a week. Something to do with endorphin levels, a sense of accomplishment, sticking to a plan.. whatever it was, it helped. Or at least, when I didn't exercise, I started spiraling downwards again. I was on the pills for two years. It made a huge difference. Once they kicked in, it felt like the sun had come out or something. I had no idea how horrible my life had been in the middle of the depression funk, because it had come over me so gradually. Sometimes I felt like a fake for having to take my happy-pills, but I saw them as training wheels. Two years of exercising regularly, taking the pills reliably and recognising when I'm going down a depressive spiral and trying to pull out of it, and I asked my (different) doctor if we could start gradually taking me off the medication (cold turkey will mess you up). She had been monitoring my progress and thought that it was a good idea. Two weeks on half-dose, one week on quarter-dose, and it was done. Last of the happy pills. Been free of the curse for about three years now.