It’s no secret that I’ve had a lifelong problem with depression. With the drastic changes in my life over the last month, I’ve had a harder time controlling it. For most of my life I’ve controlled it through sheer will, and later, with my writing. But recently, my coping mechanisms haven’t really been enough, and I’ve been working with my new doctor here and a therapist to deal with those changes.

Last Thursday, I had a setback. Something happened that upset me—whether or not my hurt was justified is a matter of debate—but I had a rough few days. While trying to adjust to being on daily medication for depression, I found that it’s not really evening out my moods. It doesn’t help when something truly bothers me. So, I wrote my feelings down in a small notebook I’ve been using to document for my therapist, and I dealt with it as best as I could. I texted a few close friends, none of whom really understood, but they listened anyway.

Today, I woke up and felt good for the first time in days. A friend had invited me to Piedmont Park for a picnic to celebrate his birthday. He and his husband have been incredibly kind to me since the first moment we met, so I knew I wanted to go. I don’t deal well in situations where I don’t know where to go or what to do, so I asked my friend Joe to come with me. My friends welcomed Joe just as they had welcomed me. So, I took one of my new social anxiety pills and sat in the sunshine watching the festivities. It wasn’t long before they brought me into the fold to sit on a blanket with them and talk about anything and nothing.

And right now, I’d like to say a heartfelt thank you to our hosts and to the other friends who embraced me this afternoon. I enjoyed every minute of our time together.

I stayed long after Joe left. I helped the guys pack up and watched them leave. Then, I sat on the ground with probably one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. He and I stayed, watching the softball players, watching the joggers and the walkers, and we talked for hours. This isn’t the first time we’ve passed the time talking. At Atlanta Leather Pride, he and I met when we built a backdrop for the festivities and spent the afternoon working and talking. But this time was different. This time, we had confessions in the park with only the trees to know our truths.

He told me the story of him coming out to his parents. I told him about my daughter’s death. We talked of current projects we are working on. We spoke fondly of mutual friends. We spent a great late afternoon in the sunshine finding out about each other in the way new friends do—by telling each other stories we weren’t around to be a part of.

So, to him I’d like to say thank you, and I truly hope that he and I will have lots of misadventure stories to tell new friends about us one day.