Who Do We Become without the Things That Make Us Who We Are? A guest post by Bree Barton

When people ask how my depression started, my answer surprises them.

I was eleven. I know the year (1996), if not the exact date (sometime in January). But I can pinpoint where I was and what I was doing, in the way that people often remember their precise location during a traumatic event.

When people ask how my depression started, I say three little words.

The Lion King.

I was watching The Lion King on VHS, at my grandmother’s house, with my best friend J. And here’s the weirdest thing: it wasn’t even the first time I’d seen the film.