The news of Kate Spade’s suicide rewound the events of my life and brought me back to a horrific experience with depression.

I know very little about depression, its causes or cures. The only thing I know for sure is that a certain chemotherapy drug threw me into that dark place and I pray to never return.

Without warning, I experienced extreme hopelessness and a desire to die. Yes. In the midst of my aggressive fight against leukemia and my constant professions of life and health, I went to bed, covered my head with a blanket and told my husband that I wanted to die.

“Look at those four children and tell me you want to die.”

“I’m not looking at anybody. I’m closing my eyes and begging God to end my life. If He really loved me, He’d want me in Heaven now.”

The strength I found to get out of bed was tested by tears I couldn’t control. Well-meaning people who loved me attempted to discover the reason for my constant crying and I was as clueless as they were.

“No, no one did or said anything to me.” “No, I don’t know why I’m crying.” “Yes, I wish I would stop, too.”

Thinking happy thoughts, a life skill at which I usually excel, was impossible.

When did it stop? When the bag of chemotherapy attached to my central line emptied and was no longer pumped throughout my body.

Hopefully I am the only person ever to experience this type of reaction to medication, but I promise you, it happened and it stopped happening when the medicine ran out.

Will I ever forget that experience? Possibly.

However, it’s been 25 years and the pain is still fresh. And although I wince when I think of the tiny bout of depression that lasted only a few days, a mere blip on the screen of my life, I hope to never forget the compassion it created in me for people who suffer from that dreaded condition.

It can’t be said often enough. If you or anyone you know suffers from depression, seek immediate help.

Ronny Michel may be reached at rmichel@rtconline.com.