In my case, it's a variety of things. I grew up overweight, which wasn't good. On top of that, I was home schooled from Grade 3 on and didn't have many friends. When I became a teenager, I had a tenuous relationship with my family including my Grandfather who was head of my family. A lot of hateful, mean things were said. So, I grew up not trusting people, not wanting to share, hiding my pain both physical and emotionally. Self hatred set in, feeling I'm unworthy to be happy or I'd be better off dead. Never going to amount to anything so why bother trying, I'm no good, I'm stupid, I'm a burden to everyone, etc, etc.

Once you go down the hole, the hole only gets deeper and harder to escape. In my case, I spent from around age 13 until two years ago at 25 before I started to get help. For awhile, the same things that depressed me also angered me. I had a terrible anger issue which counter balanced the depression. But by the time I got help the depression had completely taken over. By that point, I'd lost everything that I loved including my ability to write semi-professionally. I gave up on life, and really have no memory of the prior year. Nothing mattered anymore.

Not that everything's roses now, or I've made tremendous strides, but I'm trying. It isn't easy. It'll never be easy, but all I can do is try to make something out of what I've done to myself.

Edit: Reading that back, you can see the depressive statement at the end. What *I'VE* done to myself. I instinctively put all the blame on myself, that it's my fault that I'm the way I am. That's how depression works, guys. Everything is your fault, or an extension of your fault or some variation. It clouds your mind, showing things in the most negative light for yourself possible.