It’s interesting knowing the first word that people think of when they think of you.

Consistent. Spontaneous. Sunshine. Uplifting. Sassy. Huge heart. Bubbly. Spunky. Full of love. Hopeless romantic. Audacious. Smiles. Caring heart. Sweetheart. Cheerful. Lovely. Sacrificial. Hard working. Exciting. Crafty. Good story teller. Positive. Kindness. Fun. Sweet.Genuine. Busy. Spunky. Joyful. Hugs. Happy.

This warm feeling that makes me feel at home.

All of these are words people think of when they think of me (I know, I asked them).

But here’s the thing, I’m not those things in my own head. These are not the words I associate with myself. I know they say that you are your own worst critic, and I know for a fact that is true in my case. Words like “smiles, positive, and joyful” or the person who said “This warm feeling that makes me feel at home,” those especially take me by surprise. I wish they didn’t. I wish I identified myself with those words. But, it’s especially hard for me to do so, because I struggle with clinical depression.

It took me a long time to be accepting of that. I thought I was doing something wrong, I wasn’t thinking happy enough things, I wasn’t praying enough, I wasn’t working hard enough at being happy.

You see, I was diagnosed with depression after I decided as an eighth grader that my friends and family would be better off without me, and I ran away from home. I won’t go into all the details here, but God was with me and that story had a happy ending (I was safe, I got home again, and my parents sought the correct treatment options with me). Being in junior high, and knowing that somehow you just can’t force yourself to be happy enough is a tough thing. It makes you feel different and alienated from your friends.

As I got older, it became apparent that I would need antidepressants to help combat the effects of the depression. I hated that. Why did I have to be the one whose depression was so bad that it wouldn’t go away? Why did I need a medicine to help me not want to cry all the time?

The process of finding the right antidepressant was a long one, or so it seemed. I tried some that didn’t work at all and I still cried at the slightest thing. I tried some that worked a little too well and I couldn’t feel sad even when I knew sadness would have been the appropriate response. I tried some that just left me numb all the time, void of emotion entirely. Eventually, we found one that worked with me.

I’m not saying that suddenly I just felt better and there was no struggle after that. It wasn’t even an immediate turnaround where I went from crying until dinner, stopping for dinner, and then crying until bed to suddenly just being happy-go-lucky all the time. It was a slow process, almost to the point where I didn’t notice it. One day my mom happened to comment that she was so happy to hear me singing again (which is really saying something since I can’t carry a tune to save my life) and it registered to me that I didn’t feel like crying at the slightest provocation. In fact, crying had begun to cease being a daily thing.

But still, I felt like I wasn’t good enough. Yes, I had stopped crying everyday, but I hadn’t done it on my own. I was still weak and pathetic and not as good as everyone else. I was still this freak who couldn’t be happy. It wore on my self-image, knowing that people thought of me as happy, but in my mind it was false, because I was incapable of bringing it about on my own. I berated myself for my need for antidepressants.

One summer, I decided I’d had enough. I’d heard that some cases of depression go away with time and hoped that would be the case with mine. Without telling anyone, I weaned myself off of my antidepressants until I wasn’t using them at all. Surprisingly to me, I was happy. I spent my days working two summer jobs, and my nights running around with a group of friends. Then, I left for school.

It should have been exciting, new, and delightful, but I was sad. Constantly. I tried to hide it, to cover it up in every way. But, eventually, I had an emotional breakdown over something trivial, and the crushing weight of sadness enveloped me again. I realized that I had not, in fact, kicked my depression. So, I started doing some research in secret. I wanted to know what caused me to feel this way all the time. I wanted to understand how I could be surrounded by people I loved and who loved me, but still be able to feel like I had no one. I wanted to know how even in the midst of laughter, I could feel the tears building up. What I found has been immensely helpful to me.

Depression is not just a symptom of toxic thoughts. Yes, those play into it, but more than that, clinical depression is a chemical imbalance. Mine is genetic. It’s not my lack of positive thinking or prayer that causes depression. It’s a malfunction by my body, like a long lasting injury.

Think about it like this, if your friend had a cold, and took medicine prescribed by a doctor to help them get over the cold, does that make them weak? Of course not. They have an illness. Would you tell them to just think about being healthy again? No, that’s absurd. So why is that okay with depression? Depression is an illness. It is a chemical imbalance that we are incapable of fixing just by happy thoughts.

I don’t write this to get your pity. I write this because the topic has come up multiple times with multiple people recently. I write this in the hopes that others dealing with this will realize they are not alone, that they will understand that they are not weak in their battle, and that maybe (just maybe) this will be a stepping stone towards their realization that this is an illness, but one that is treatable.

So, if you’re reading this, and also struggle with depression, please know you are not alone and you don’t have to be ashamed of this. If you’re reading this and you don’t, remember to be kind with your words, because sometimes it’s the people who seem the happiest that are the harshest to themselves. You really never know the internal battle people are fighting, so don’t assume you do.

I wouldn’t be able to be here today, telling you this if I didn’t have a beautiful community of friends and family who support and love me, even on my bad days, or a God who gives me strength to continue and a venue through which I can let others know they are not alone. It is by God’s grace alone that I am here today, healthy, happy (some of the time), and ready to experience what He has in store for me. So, don’t let depression be what makes you stop praying. Don’t let it stop your friends and family from being there for you. Build that community, surround yourself with it, and surrender your depression to God daily. Find something you love to do, and do more of it. Try yoga. Paint a picture. Serenade a random stranger at a stoplight. Have a spontaneous dance party in the Taco Bell parking lot while it’s pouring rain. But, most importantly, don’t be afraid to seek the proper treatment.

If you are suicidal, call 9-1-1, tell someone immediately. We want you here. You are loved and cared about, more than you realize!