I love photos. I blame that on a set of grandparents with a deep-seated love of photography, whose visits to the photo department of the pharmacy/store to drop off and pick up rolls of film were frequent and fun. It helped that they were pretty good with cameras. I know that because I spent a lot of my spare time in college helping them scan their older photos for the family history. If something crazy happened like me getting sent back in time, I would know people and places simply because of my involvement with the family history project. But I digress - a little bit. I digress a tiny bit. For all my love of photos, there are some I struggle with looking at. Those photos are few and far between - which won't be such a huge surprise when I tell you they were taken at various points during my spiral into depression and suicidal thoughts. What also shouldn't be a surprise is how I managed to avoid being in so many photos by putting myself behind the camera. The photo t...