I've always suffered with depression. It would come over me like a shroud and I'd sink into the pit of despair (random movie reference) without means of escape. It was forever part of my life, so, knowing it would come again, I made adjustments for its effects.

Until we moved to Georgia.

Let's back up a little. One day, while struggling to make some much needed changes to the routine in the armory at Minot Air Force Base, I found myself standing at the boss's desk with my hand on the butt of my revolver. The words, "I should shoot this man and put him out of everyone's misery" were clanging around in my head. Before pulling the weapon, a thought flew by, not really competing with the adamancy of the first, but sort of attention-grabbing in its subtlety.

"You need some help, Tim."