According to a study done by the Anxiety and Depression Association of America, it is stated that approximately 14.8 million American adults, or about 6.7 percent of the U.S. population age 18 and older in a given year are affected by a major depressive disorder. Another 1.5 percent of the U.S. population age 18 and older which equals to about 3.3 million American adults are affected by persistent depressive disorder (PDD). Based on this study, there are 18.1 million American adults that battle some form of depression, meaning that more than likely you or someone you know is suffering due to an invisible disease.

If you are battling with a depressive disorder, even if it doesn't seem permanent, please seek help. If you know someone has depression, please try to help them, even if you have to go out of your way, don't let them know that though, otherwise, they will swear up and down that they are okay. I know I can't speak for everyone, but from my battle, I have turned down help when I needed it the most. I had great opportunities with great people that I turned down because I thought I was going to be a bother or that they were only inviting me out of pity, and then later found out that they actually did want me there and felt bad. It made me feel bad because not only did I cheat myself out of distractions and good memories, I made them feel bad for not being able to convince me otherwise.

In my case, I can be at my lowest point, and still put other people's comfort and happiness before mine. From what I gather, a lot of people are like this. Be insistent and make your loved ones know that you're fond of them. Let them know that it's okay to talk to you. Do everything you can to help them believe that.

If you're curious as to what my story is, here's the gist of my battle.

I was twelve the first time I realized I wasn't like my classmates. I had been bullied in elementary school, and if you read my last article, then you know I didn't have a good circle of friends. I became self-aware of my fake happiness and constant need for something. I didn't feel whole, I had a deep loneliness that I have kept within me throughout the last seven years. I began self-harming and thought of dying in every way. I even contemplated killing myself on a few occasions, but I knew I would never be able to go through with it, so I never bothered talking about it. I didn't want to bother anyone with my problems.

When I did bring it up to someone they dismissed me with, "You're too young to have anything to be depressed about." and "You don't know what depression is, just walk in my shoes." Well honestly, to begin with, I've never really talked to anyone openly about anything, much less things that make everyone uncomfortable, but after being told I was too young to know anything about it, I wasn't about to talk about it anytime soon. I coped with it by keeping busy with academics, basketball, and texting whoever I could.

At night it was worse because I usually had trouble sleeping and there was nothing to do for distractions. I couldn't watch TV because I had a strict stepdad and my curfew was 9 p.m., which meant I had to be in bed with everything off. I often tried to text people after I was left alone in the comfort of my room, but I had to be sneaky about it because my stepdad often checked on me to make sure I wasn't trying to do anything other than sleep. Usually, the few people I talked to and messaged were already asleep or didn't feel like texting, so I would be left with my thoughts for hours until I managed to tire myself out. Which, as expected, made me feel worse when I awoke the next day. It was a vicious cycle.

Sometime that year, my dad had met someone and I felt like I finally had someone to talk to, but that didn't last very long. When I was thirteen she and I talked about things that I couldn't talk about with anyone else, but then my dad had read the text messages between us. He immediately gave her the boot and told my mom. Well, my dad pretty much only spoke to me when he had to, my brother (who was 24 at the time) gave me a silent treatment and when we finally did talk it was awkward and strained, my mom acted like everything was normal and my stepdad got even more strict.

Two months later, my dad had gotten back with his girlfriend and then the unthinkable happened. My brother was in a four wheeler wreck and died October 4th, 2010. I was in Louisiana History with Coach Swayze when I was called to the office. I was fussing because my mom was checking me out during an interesting lesson and then I walked into the hallway and saw my grandmother at the front office. My heart immediately sunk and I just knew something had happened, though I thought that my mother had had another heart attack. Joey never even crossed my mind until I kept asking what happened and saw my mom in the SUV. I got in and my mom told me we had to go to the hospital to meet Joey because he was in a bad wreck. A few minutes down the road, my dad called my mom and the next thing I knew my mom told my grandma to pull over and jumped out of the car. I finally lost my composure because I knew what that meant. The rest of the week went by in a blur. Some of it feels like yesterday, and some of it I can't remember to save my life. I will always have the moment we found out carved into my memory, though, no one can forget something that so drastically turns their world upside down.

After the funeral was over, I felt like the worst sister in the world, because I began to question everything. First, I was angry at God for taking the good sibling, the one with four beautiful kids instead of me. I mean, I wasn't good enough for anything anyway so why not me? I then became even more hateful towards myself for not being affectionate and not telling him I loved him more, not being good enough, and the thing I still have trouble forgiving myself for. I never swallowed my pride and called him after my bomb dropped that summer, even though my dad told me countless times to call him and make it right. I know Joey knew I loved him, but I just have trouble forgiving myself for not spending more time with him.

I swore to myself for him that I would watch after his kids as if they were my own, and unfortunately, I haven't kept my promise because my family hasn't been allowed to see any of his kids due to ignorant reasons. I hate that my nieces and nephews don't know their great grandparents, grandparents, cousins, or aunts. I hate thinking that they probably think we don't want to see them, even if the opposite is the truth. I know my parents have lost sleep and tears over Joey's kids because I do often, even if it's been nearly six years. I finally saw my nephews for the first time at my grandfather's funeral October 31st, 2015 and I couldn't even talk to them because I was crying so much. I couldn't believe I was finally seeing my brother's kids again. I felt like part of a hole was filled even if it only lasted an hour or so.

Understandably after all of this, I got worse. I self-harmed more, but I hid it pretty well for a while. My boyfriend at the time noticed and made me stop, he was the one who helped me the most through losing Joey and with my depression, even if sometimes he made it worse. He tried, for the most part, to make me better, and when we broke up he told my mom about the self-harm, hoping she would get me help. I refused because I thought back then that therapy was for weirdos and was scared people would find out. Honestly, I wish I would've started going at that point. I needed it, and as I got older, it became more apparent. Some advice for anyone: never shoot therapy down. Therapy helps a lot of people with various different reasons, and it never hurts to try something rather than coping yourself and perhaps hurting yourself or others.

My junior year in high school is when I finally hit rock bottom and broke. I had already given up basketball in tenth grade due to breaking my ankle, but I was still playing softball and was immersed in school. I lost all motivation for those things, though. I quit softball the end of the season and lost interest in school. I quit doing everything, I still had good grades, but only because I had a gift for acing tests. I mean, I wasn't doing homework, I didn't do work that required effort, and I didn't turn most things in. If it weren't for tests, I would've failed more than half of my classes.

I was enrolled in two AP classes. The first semester, I failed out of both (a 43 in AP U.S. History and I think it was a high 60 in AP English), but I had never even been close to failing a class my entire life. I knew I needed to start doing something to fix myself, but I had been working and thought that would be enough, but I would come to find out that it wasn't. I dropped out of AP U.S. History, but remained in AP English. I managed to get the 97 average in regular U.S. History and passed AP English in the long run, but I still had problems. I started skipping school, my grades were all over the place, and I lost interest in activities and making friends. I hadn't self-harmed in about a year, but I had started again and I had started coping in unhealthy ways. My best friend, Josh, helped me stop self-harming, but when he ditched me it got bad again.

This continued into Senior year and by then I was best friends with a couple, Alejandra (Ally) and Austin. Ally was my best friend, so by default Austin was too because they were never separated. When they broke up, Ally moved on pretty quickly and was busy with her new boyfriend while Austin fell into a hole. We became extremely close, and I was over at his house every day. He depended on me to help break his habits of Ally, and I depended on him to distract me from my loneliness and thoughts. We are basically siblings because of this. He moved on, and we still hung out a lot, but then he transferred schools and we started seeing less of each other. I actually missed his graduation and party because I was too depressed to even get out of bed, and I hated myself for that. After graduation, he got a job, and I got a girlfriend. We drifted, but he's still my 'Brudda' and I'm still his sister.

I began dating a girl called Megan. While I was dating Megan, I was actually truly happy, even when I was alone at my mom's house, I just felt better overall. My happiness lasted about a month and a half. Then I found out that my grandpa was on his deathbed with lung cancer again, and I had to go back to Louisiana to take care of him. While I was there, my happiness was slowly dwindling and I was falling back into some bad patterns that cause Megan and I to break up.

I hit rock bottom again, even harder than the first time. I self-harmed worse than I had before, but it was only once and my four-year-old cousin caught me. That was my absolute lowest point. I had managed to self-harm and let my baby cousin see my demons.

I really couldn't face myself or reality at this point and made arrangements to move into a friend's in Austin, TX when my grandfather was put into the hospital and I went back to Texas. I was hoping that a change of scenery and environment would help. It did for the first three months, and then I started stressing. I started getting the numbness and missing something feeling soon. I never allowed myself to fall into my old patterns again. I spent as much time working and looking for second jobs as I could, when I wasn't there I meditated, played video games, and binge-watched Netflix to keep me busy. I managed to stay clean of all my destructive habits, and I still have.

It's been nearly a year since I've done anything that I used to do to cope. I moved from Austin back to College Station, TX in February 2016. I am currently staying with my dad in Louisiana to work, though. I am doing better. I may have a war, but I am winning battles now. I am no longer my depression. I have been numb and incomplete for the majority of my life, I am still incomplete because I'm not finished working on myself, but I'm not numb every day. I'm not thinking about ways to harm myself, I'm not a complete wreck all of the time, I have the energy to get out of bed and face the world. I am finally letting go of my mask and I can now joke more than ever before.

I am currently working a full-time job at a construction site, I work up to 84 hours a week, I have a beautiful cat that I adopted in Austin, I'm living with my dad for the first time since my parents split up when I was 3, I have an amazing boyfriend, and I'm, for the most part, doing better. I still have days, even weeks when I fall into a depression and lose motivation for anything, but I have people behind me pushing me to do things and I look forward to my check. It may sound cliche, but money is my motivation at this point.

Find your motivation and hold tight to it, no matter what anyone else says or does. I beg you all to stay off of the bad path. Make the healthy choices, even if it is difficult. It gets better, and you will love your decisions when you're older. If you fall into bad habits, you may end up like me and regret too much of your past. I mean I'm glad I had some lessons learned and I'm able to guide and help people more than I would have been otherwise, but I don't want to think of anyone having to live with their past being regretted simply for trying to kill your own demons.