Functional Depression

When I was first suicidal, I seemed fine. No, really, I seemed better than fine. People would tell me I was an inspiration. I was their hero. I woke up every morning and I trained for an Ironman. I signed up for it nine days after my daughter died. I never missed a day of exercise. In fact, sometimes I did two workouts a day. Because that was the only way for me to get enough endorphins to make it through the day. I cooked hot breakfast for my kids. I made dinner…