I’m not a gambler. In fact, I would be the first one to tell you that I would never last on the game show “Deal or No Deal.” As soon as the first offer was given, I would hit the red button and be done. 

Yet, every day around 5:00 p.m. I find myself having an inner battle and betting the odds in terms of what I will find walking into my home.

You see, my husband has depression. Not the occasional, “I’m having a bad day” depression but the full-blown “I can barely function” depression, or as his psychologist and psychiatrist label it, “severe depression and high anxiety.” It didn’t start this way, and truthfully I’m not sure how we got here. I say “we” because while he may the one with the disease, I feel like I am the one suffering through it.