I was afraid. It was something new, challenging my view of the world.

I used to think it didn’t exist. It was something far away, in exaggerated fairy tales. Like a unicorn, gryphon or intelligent reality TV programming. It just wasn’t real.

But as I sat around the table for Thanksgiving, I couldn’t help but feel a little thank-less. I felt empty, unmotivated and uncaring. I was surrounded by family I rarely saw, and yet I couldn’t have felt more alone. Far from an isolated incident, these feelings had boiled under my skin for at least two months, making it difficult to focus, find energy, eat or even have a decent night’s sleep.

I was depressed. Clinically depressed.

It wasn’t as though I’d never heard of the diagnosis before. I knew several friends who had been dealing with depression for weeks, months, even years. But I always told myself, “It’s just a mood. I’m just having a bad day. I need to snap out of it. That clinical depression stuff is complete bull.” Anytime my mind so much as entertained the idea of having clinical depression, I felt ashamed and weak. How could I let something get to me that was, as I saw it, fake?

It’s not fake. It’s a real diagnosis, listed in the current edition of the “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders,” and someone who is truly clinically depressed can no more “snap out of it” than someone can tell their heart to just stop beating. It happens, and it persists.

And it got me thinking.

It may seem selfish or even pompous for citizens of the United States, one of the wealthiest and most powerful countries — even during a recession — to complain about how depressed they are, considering the state of the world.

Two wars in the Middle East are continued displays of extreme strife, with individuals suffering on both sides. Not only are our soldiers under attack from militant guerrillas, but their minds must also cope with the extreme stress of war, and the same goes for civilians caught in the conflict.

In Darfur, war continues to rage, denying access to food, water, shelter and access to health care to some while outright killing others. The Centre for Research on the Epidemiology of Disasters estimates 118,142 dead between September 2003 and January 2005, with 35,000 directly attributed to violence. The remainder was attributed to disease, malnutrition and starvation.

But you don’t have to go overseas to find trouble. A half hour’s drive south, Des Moines is struggling with its homeless population. In 2007, 3,632 families and 2,436 individuals were reported by the U.S. Conference of Mayors as seeking shelter in Iowa’s capitol city. Compared to a city twice the size of Des Moines, Miami, this was approximately five times the rate of homelessness for families, and nearly seven times as high for individuals. This makes Des Moines a city with one of the highest rates of homelessness per capita in the country.

The world is in a state of disrepair. There is no denying that. And there’s no denying  that each and every one of these problems demands, at the least, our attention. We are all human beings after all, and despite all the differences in views between us — politics, religion, social justice — one thing we should all agree on is that, quite frankly, sometimes people need help.

I reached out and got help for my depression. I’m starting counseling and doing what I can to live a healthier life. But first I had to admit I needed help and that the problem was real.

With all of these things, depression, war, famine, poverty and more, we cannot stand to simply push away the thoughts we do not wish to face. We cannot think the world will simply snap out of it. We have to recognize and see the issues facing us, lurking in our shadows and confront them.

And that’s nothing to be ashamed or afraid of.

Sophie Prell is a senior in pre-journalism and mass communication from Alta.