"Everything's okay." Just do some yoga and some deep breathing exercises. Life's not perfect for anyone, things get hard for everyone, grow some thicker skin and stop worrying about everything. Half of you wants to believe that, but the other half of you, the half that deals with mental illness day in and day out, is crippled by, well, your own self. You're crippled to the point that sleep is the only option to end the day and forget you're still living.

Three years will pass, and you'll have already tried five different antidepressants. They'll "work" for a while, but that high of yours, it'll come down, and you'll come crumbling with it. You'll finally realize the way you've felt for years, the constant ups and downs with no in between, just don't seem "normal." You'll muster up the courage to talk to your doctor, and when you do, you'll be crying. And when they ask you if you have thoughts of suicide right at that very second, you'll choke back the rest of your tears and answer truthfully because you want help.

You'll be referred to a psychiatrist because the medicine your doctor can prescribe is not strong enough for your mental state. You'll feel f***ing crazy walking into his office wondering if you fit the regular stereotype of the oppressed 20-something. He'll ask you a plethora of questions pertaining to your mental state as well as your families. What your home life is like to how you plan to end your life. He won't tell you what he's thinking, but in a roundabout way once he begins prescribing you drugs you'll catch his drift. He'll begin weaning you off of your Effexir, prescribe you Lamictal as well as Klonopin to take while you wait for your mood stabilizer to do its job.

Then, lucky for you and your weak mind, you're triggered by someone's words, not words of encouragement either. And these words, they'll haunt you all day at work up until you arrive at your house, grab some wine, turn on Broad City, and sit your prescriptions right next to you and begin jotting down your final words. Your roommate will come home and without knowing it herself, she'll save you. She'll save you as you hear her unlock the door, so you put all pills aside, place the notebook under the table, and wipe away the rest of your tears. She'll sit and watch television with you and make you forget how terrible your day was. She'll help you hold off on your depressive thoughts long enough to fall asleep and forget you're still living.