These are the things you know about depression.

There are days when Aunty can't even get out of bed.

It starts when you are five years old. Well, that is when you first notice, anyways. You're sitting at breakfast with Momma and Uncle B and Aunty Raven and Momma tells you to get your Aunty Clarke for breakfast. Aunty Clarke is usually awake before you, so this is a special occasion.

You skip to her room at the end of the hall, pushing open the thin door. You sweep aside the thin sheet separating you from Aunty. She's lying away from you, so you crawl up onto the bed and lean over her shoulder so you can see her eyes.

"Wake up Aunty," you say.

And then you see her eyes.

They're already open. Staring at the wall but she doesn't see you or anything. For a second you're scared she's not even breathing, and you scramble off her real quick. But then she speaks.

"Aurora," she says in barely even a whisper, "go get your mom."

You take off running, back to the mess hall, back to Momma.

"Momma," you say, 'there's something wrong with Aunty. She won't get up Momma."

Momma and Aunty Raven share a look and then Momma runs off down the hall.

Later that day, you sneak by Aunty Clarke's room. You haven't seen her or Momma since this morning, and when you approach the door, you hear voices inside, talking low.

"Feel better now?" you hear Momma ask.

You don't hear Auntie's reply.

Then, "I'm sorry I sent her in here this morning. I wasn't thinking. I should have known when you didn't show for breakfast."

"I didn't want her to find out this way," Aunty Clarke's voice is thick sounding, like when Momma talks about Daddy, or Aunty Raven talks about Uncle Finn (who died a long time ago, but you still feel like he's your uncle.)

"It's okay, Clarke. It's not your fault."

You hear Aunty Clarke hiccup.

You think maybe she's crying.

It scares you.

Later that night when Uncle B tucks you into bed, you want to ask him about what you heard.

But you don't.

That it is not a choice.

After the first breakfast thing, you begin to notice Aunty Clarke's absence a lot more. It happens more often than you had realized.

One day, when you are seven years old, sitting on Momma's lap, you ask her.

"Why is Aunty Clarke sad all the time?"

Now this question is totally true, and you know it. You've seen Aunty Clarke smile and laugh plenty of times, tell bad jokes to cheer you up when you were sick, tickle you when you felt sad. You know she's not sad all the time.

But the room goes silent when you ask this question. Momma puts her face in your hair like she always does when she's upset.

You look up. You see tears in her eyes, but then she smiles.

"You know how I told about daddy, how he's in heaven?"

You nod.

"Well, Aunty Clarke loved a girl very much, like I loved daddy, and she's in heaven too."

"But you don't get sad like she does." You counter. And sure, you've seen Momma cry about daddy, but never this all-consuming sadness that keeps you in bed all day.

Momma doesn't answer.

Aunty Raven does. She comes and sits next to you, leg straight out with the bog black brace she always wears.

"You see this brace?" she asks, and you nod.

"I wear it because there something wrong with my leg. And you can see that. But Aunty Clarke, she has something wrong on the inside, in her brain, and we can't build a brace for it. So sometimes, she gets too sad, and she has to rest her brain."

You nod. This makes sense.

"Can I help her?" you ask, because maybe this is something that adults can't fix.

Raven smiles.

"Not always, sweetie. But sometimes, when you see her, and she looks sad, you can ask if you can hug her. And if she says yes, you can hug her real tight. Real tight and maybe you can squeeze a little of the sadness out of her."

You smile. This sounds like a good plan.

There are bad days, horrible days, but also good days.

Momma takes you to the drop ship for the first time when you are eight. You go with Uncle B and Aunty Clarke. Momma tells you about how they fell from the sky. Uncle B lets you sit on top of his shoulders. Aunty Clarke brings a picnic and you sit next to the big metal door of the ship and eat lunch.

You watch Aunty Clarke a lot these days. You're old to know that people talk a lot. And they talk a lot about her. But you don't see what the big deal is.

You sit under the sun all day, watching as Aunty Clarke talks and laughs and jokes with Momma and Uncle B and you. And it makes you think maybe the bad days are all over. She carries you home on her back and laughs more time than you can count.

The sun is shining off her gold hair and you feel so happy.

It is unforgiving.

You are twelve the first time you see Aunty Clarke having a panic attack. It is dinnertime, and you're sitting at a table with Momma and Uncle Jasper and Uncle Monty and Aunty Clarke and Aunty Raven. Everything was going great. Then you hear the clink of silverware hitting the floor and turn to see Aunty Clarke holding onto the table so hard her hands are the color of snow.

You reach out to touch her, but Momma pulls you're hand away. Aunty Raven swings up from her seat and around the table.

"Go get Abby, then stay over there with Uncle B," Momma whispers. You want to protest, but Aunty Clarke is shaking and breathing funny and you are scared. You run to Abby, who is already out of her seat. Uncle B swings up onto his lap and holds you so you can't turn your head to look.

Later that night, Momma tucks you into bed and you ask what happened. She sighs, smoothing back you hair.

"It's called a panic attack," she explains.

"I was scared," you say.

She lifts you from the bed, holding you close to her chest.

"So was I," she whispers so quiet you can barely hear, "So was I."

The word itself (and that naming things makes them less scary)

You find the word in one of those ancient medical textbooks in the hospital wing. You got excused from class that day because of the flu, and Abby lets you lie in there and gives you soup and the book. You remember the page number, 319, and you read the passage again and again. You show it to Abby, and her face goes pale, and she hugs you tight.

Later that night, you wake up to Aunty Clarke sitting next to you. You reach for her and she holds you tight. You think she might be crying.

"The scariest monsters are the ones without names," she whispers.

You are fifteen.

"I think you're the bravest person I've ever known," you whisper back.

She lets you go. Tucks the covers back around you. As you drift off, you hear her whisper into the darkness,

"Don't."

You carry that one word with you through school, and you wonder about it a lot. You don't talk to her about it, or ask anyone, not even Momma about it.

Then you learn about the Mountain, about the 100, about the commander and the war. About how Aunty Clarke tore apart villages and armies with her bare hands, how she killed hundreds and hundreds of people, about the legends and the names people gave her.

You leave class and throw up in the nearest trashcan. You go to room for the rest of the day.

When Momma comes up from dinner, you are curled up in bed, facing the wall. She sits down next to you.

"Bellamy told me about school today," She says, "What are you feeling?"

"I don't feel any different," you say, and the words communicate your fears. If you still love Aunty Clarke, does that make you a bad person?

You start to cry.

"I don't want to be a bad person Momma, but I still love Aunty Clarke, and I don't think she's a bad person. Does that make me a bad person?"

Momma picks you up and hugs you tight. You curl up in her lap, despite your being five inches taller.

"I don't think she's a bad person either sweetie, of course doesn't make you a bad person. I think you should tell her how you feel, though." Momma says as she holds you tight.

"Come on," she says, pulling you up, "Dessert is still going on."

You walk downstairs, and spot Aunty Clarke sitting at a table with you other Aunties and Uncles. You walk over with Momma.

"Aunty Clarke," you say, and she looks up at you with eyes that look like she's sure you're about to hit her, "I still think you're the bravest person I've ever known, and nothing anyone says is going to change that." You declare as you sit down next to her.

She just keeps staring.

Then, she wraps her arms around you tight, and you think she might cry, but she doesn't. She just holds you so tight and then she lets go, wipes her eyes, and passes you a piece of cake.

Some days, you forget it even exists.