How It All Began

There are a lot of reasons I'm depressed.  The first time I was diagnosed, I was 18.  I was going through a lot of stuff at home, my grandparents were all sick and my mother was angry all the time. My father was away for work as he often was. I was finishing high school and trying to sort out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
My doctor gave me medication and left me to it. No follow up, no suggestions of meeting with a psychologist, nothing.  Needless to say, I wasn't surprised to realise I was depressed again.
About six years ago, I moved to another country.  I had only my husband and his family, no one who I had grown up knowing. I get lonely, especially around holidays and anniversaries.  I didn't finish the degree I was nearly done with and I haven't gotten the chance to finish it yet.
Two years ago, I lost my last remaining Grandmother, who was a tremendous part of shaping me as a person.  Being away from my family made dealing with that loss very difficult.  At the same time, my best friend's little brother hung himself.  I'd thought of him as family, and it was really hard to reconcile myself to his death.
Last year my husband and I sought assistance to start a family. It turns out we won't be able to naturally conceive our own baby.  There is a strong possibility that we won't have a child who biologically belongs to the two of us.
Recently I chose to leave my job because it was stressful, unfulfilling and paid nothing.  I thought I'd be able to find a job within a month or two - six months later I'm still unemployed and we're living with my in-laws.  I've got little space to call my own and I feel like I'm constantly walking on egg shells trying not to irritate or upset anyone.
I felt like I was drowning.  I didn't know who to turn to.  I couldn't get myself out of bed.  I would cry or fly into a rage at the drop of a  hat.  It was like being lost in a dark cave where every once in a while I would catch a glimpse of light, just enough to convince me that there were happy people out there.  I just couldn't see myself being one of them again.
I started to have suicidal thoughts.  I didn't think there was any point to my being alive.  I considered pills.  I considered jumping off a cliff.  I considered slitting my wrists in a bathtub.  Every time, I pictured my husbands reaction.  So I didn't take any action.  I couldn't hurt him that way.  He had always been so supportive - I couldn't cause him that much pain.
It's because of my husband that I've gotten the support I needed to take steps towards my recovery.  I love him immensely and I know how lucky I am to have him.