NEW YORK — It's been a little over a year now since my doctor diagnosed me with clinical depression.

At the time, it seemed only natural for me to share that with my readers, not only in the interest of transparency, but because mental illness is something even those of us in health care (related) businesses are reluctant to discuss.

(I admit there was also the underlying selfish motive of catharsis. The single best thing I did since my diagnosis was to talk about it. With my wife. My closest friends. And all of you.)

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As I mentioned at the time, the outpouring of support was unexpected and intoxicating. More than a few talked about how brave it was, but I didn't understand that. Yet.

See, to me it was as simple as sharing a simple medical condition. I'm allergic to penicillin, I still have my appendix (but not my tonsils) and I'm on medication for depression. Pretty standard stuff, right? What's the big deal?

Well, turns out it can be. While most people treat me the same as before, others, well … not so much.

I'm reminded of this, of course, because of the horrific — and apparently intentional — plane crash in the Alps last week. Obviously, the facts are still pouring in, but the early media narrative is that the co-pilot was depressed, wanted to kill himself and took a hundred or so strangers with him. In the most dramatic fashion possible.

Not only is that logic fundamentally flawed, but it's downright bigoted. That's as prejudiced as pointing to his race as the cause of the crime. If he were Middle-Eastern, he was a terrorist. Or if he were Muslim, he hated Christians.

There's no direct causal link between depression and mass murder.

But knowing that on an intellectual level and interacting with that reality on a day-to-day basis are two very different things.

I've always been a very animated person, prone to bursts of excitement — and volume. I've never been accused of being the shy, retiring type.

But, since my diagnosis, there have been times when my animation might look like aggression, my intensity perceived as rage and my swings in mood seen as general instability.

This week, I'm in a room full of coworkers I've never met before, and I've never been more comfortable with that. No one here knows, so they treat me like they would anyone else.

Which raises more than a few questions. Should I have to act more circumspect than normal because of my condition? Should other treat me with kids gloves for fear of causing an episode? And at work, does HR have a responsibility to monitor me more closely?

I honestly don't know. But these questions are just the tip of the proverbial iceberg as mental health issues and the workplace are concerned. Yet we still avoid the conversation. But it shouldn't be that hard. We're talking about mental health with employers and employees, not the birds and bees with a Girls Scout troop.

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