Being afflicted with depression does not make one weak. Depression is considered a mood disorder that promotes feelings of sadness and loss of interest. However, although there is a standard form of depression, it is ever changing and irreplaceable based on the individual. My depression is definitely not the same as the depression of a family member, even if we live in the same household. My depression is not the same as a friend's, even though we experience the same school days and after-school activities. It is unique and it is terrifying, but it is as much a part of me as my own heartbeat. It was a hard acceptance but it is the truth. There are seven things that I continuously thought during my major depression and each one of those things was completely untrue.

1) Depression is my friend

When I was severely depressed, the only thing I could think of was the darkness. This conceptualization is different to different people, but it all revolves around the same aspects. The depression was always there. There were never times in which I didn't feel it in the back of my mind. It was there to listen to my woes and wipe away my tears. Its whispers were immensely influential and just like an imp on my shoulder, it told me what I wanted to hear. It gave me a darker view on life, a nihilistic approach to a vibrant world. Colors dulled, voices softened and the world around me slowly collapsed because the depression found its way not only into my mind but my heart. It made it seem as if it would be with me for eternity. This belief, this feeling, caused me to grow an attachment to the emptiness and the apathy that it gave me so I could face the world with fearlessness and courage. I thought the depression gave me power to handle whatever life could throw at me — the power to shrug off the major and minor issues and continue on with my life. However, I know now that that fearlessness was nothing but a pure feeling of "I don't care," and instead of dealing with my problems, I let them pile up on a shelf. And like all shelves, mine eventually broke.

2) No one truly loves me

I am the problem. I am the reason I'm this way and there is no one else to blame. Yet my friends sit here and watch me struggle. I know they can see that the light is no longer in my eyes. I know that they can feel the cold energy that seeps from my naturally warm aura. Why would they let me suffer within my own mind? Why are they observing my fall and not helping to catch me? I must annoy them. I must be a bother because the people that love me would never let me go through this alone. My family didn't notice. My friends rarely noticed. My teachers scolded me from my exhaustion and ineptitude to make good grades, turn in work on time or answer questions in class. Everyone found me to be a problem (which was not necessarily the case). No one took the time to ask what was wrong and if I said "fine," they let it be instead of prodding. I was terrified in my own mind. I didn't love myself — how could I believe anyone else loved me?

3) I can do it by myself

This is my affliction. This is who I am and perhaps it is my problem to fix alone. I can handle it all. I can take whatever the world throws at me because I don't want to let them see my weakness. My depression says that my friends and family don't want to hear it. My depression says if I can't handle it by myself, I am nothing. I began to think that since I had kept it under wraps and so hidden beneath my buoyant exterior for so long that it would just go away. Such a ideal was not the case. It only made it worse. The avoidance of such an internal problem only strengthened its effects on my mind. As it got worse, I grew more and more independent. If I kept my friends away from me, they wouldn't be influenced by my sadness. If I pretended to be OK they wouldn't worry. I had to protect them, even if I was corroding from the inside out.

4) I am Existing not Living

There comes a point in everyone's life where they begin to float on the cosmic spectrum of existence instead of being proactive about their lives. It's a period of time in which the world begins to come to a crawl, and your perception changes to view the world in a strong sense of nihilistic obliteration. Why live if we are all to die? Why do anything if it will all be forgotten? The true question is: Why not?

I began to fall into a true cycle of going throughout my daily routines as if I was an automaton. Everything I did contained no purpose, and everything I said could be considered a lie. My empathy was a lie. My happiness was a lie. My life ... it all seemed to be a lie. However this lie kept me afloat. It kept me in a perpetual stasis of existence. I was neither moving backwards nor forwards. I was simply stuck.

5) What's wrong with me?

Touch, taste, sight, hearing, smell — these senses are the basic fundamental abilities of the standard human. These senses are heightened in some and dulled in others. I could no longer feel the touch of my friends or the heat of the sun. The taste of cheesecake was little to nothing, and the aroma of nature was sickening to the cilia in my nostrils. I despised the world because I couldn't enjoy what was right in front of me. I could see colors, but their vibrancy meant nothing to me. They all seemed dull — gray. I could hear the voices of my friends. I could feel the rationality of their worries. Their advice was beautifully constructed. They were right, yet I could not hear them. I could hear myself. I could hear the thoughts of darkness clouding and swirling in my mind. Nothing but the darkness. I was a monster for hating myself in such a way. I was flawed in all aspects of the concept. I could do nothing right. I made everyone upset. I caused sadness. I sapped joy. I caused anxiety and panic. I was the root of my friends' emotional turmoil. I believed that if I disappeared, it would fix everything. The world would continue to spin. It would replace me with something else, and I would rest in absolute peace.

(This however was the absolute opposite. I was loved. I was wanted. I was needed. I brought joy and happiness. I eased the pain of others. I absorbed their sorrows and converted it to helpful logic. I was a shoulder to cry on. I was a protector. A lover. A brother to my siblings and a brother to my friends. Perhaps I loved them so much ... I love them so much that I would have protected them by hurting me.)

6) God Hates Me

The big question of the ages. Humanity is a completely disgusting thing when it comes to the world we live in. We ruin the environment. We slaughter animals for sport. We slaughter each other. We are unable to work past differences and find war to be a solution. We have biological warfare and no remorse for the many families we shatter. All this and the big question is: Has God abandoned us? Is God disappointed in us? And the biggest question of all to a depressed religious person: Does God hate me?

I went to church on occasion. I prayed. I blessed my food. I talked to God quite often but when I mass worshiped I felt as if I was a stain on God's plate. I'm a queer kid with a torn-apart family who barely goes to church. In the bible, I deserve to die. I am predestined for Hell, so what's the point? I began to let all these thoughts get the best of me, so I ousted religion's complexities and began to construct my own.

During my depression, to keep me sane about a Divine Being living in the sky, I took the basic fundamentals of a plethora of Religions and I molded them together. This lead to a basic understanding I found about life: God does not hate me because God is what I perceive Him to be. There are many paths that lead to the same end. Be a good person. Love the people that surround you. They are your support. They may not be an omnipotent man in the sky, but they will mean more to you than you will ever know. Never stop listening.

7) I will never be free

No, I will never be free of my depression. It sits in the back of my mind ready to creep its way into my life. However, just because I will never be free of the shackles of depression. I will always know how to combat it. Perhaps we will have an annual fight every year. Every six months. Every decade or two. It doesn't matter. I have been given the skills to cope. I have learned to love myself despite what the darkness in my mind whispers. I have learned to communicate with my friends. My candor is sadly off the charts but my feelings are no longer hidden under a layer of thick vibrancy. I am myself. I am me beyond belief and I have never felt more like the true me in seven long years. My friends are my life. I love them despite their actions. Their truths. Their inabilities and their failures. I love them through my anger, my sadness and my jealousy because I know what it's like to not feel cared about, and I will be damned if I let someone ever feel that way.