At 18 years old, I am not only a survivor of my own depression, but also a witness to how poisonous it can be to others as well. The problem with depression and any mental illness is it is not physical in the way a broken arm or scraped knee is. You cannot see my depression wrapped up in a bright green cast on display for the whole world. You cannot see the pain or the heart-breaking memories that flash beneath my eyelids every time I close my eyes. And although I am a “survivor” of this illness I still feel shameful of ever having to say, “I had depression.”

The stigma is what gets you. Not only are you ensnarled by your vicious thoughts, but also bogged down by this idea that your feelings and thoughts “aren’t real”. You feel as if it’s easier to sit back and be strangled by the boa constrictor that is your depression, than to reach out for help. Because if you do reach out, if you dare open your mouth, you might be met with the words “It’s all in your head, you’ll get over it.”

But see, that is the whole god damn problem. It is in my head. How do I fix my own brain? How do I tell my thoughts to stop suffocating me?

I remember when I first told my mom. I had never referred to myself as such, but I felt sick. Not only sick to my stomach but as if I was a sick person. My house became something of a psych ward where all medications would be locked in a safe in the corner of some closet that I did not know about and I would be watched under intense scrutiny from my family. As if they were searching for something to fix. As if one day I would just vomit out all of the sadness that was inside me and miraculously be better.

But that’s not what happens.

And I call myself a “survivor” because this illness is fatal. In only 18 years I’ve seen 7 people in my life become casualties of this illness. They did not survive, but I did. And I am here to say that I am not my depression. Neither is anybody else who is struggling with a mental illness. We are normal people who just need healing. Even like a person with their problems packaged up in a bright green cast, I too needed time to heal.

To all those suffering from a mental illness, I’d like to tell you that it’s okay. You may not be okay today, or tomorrow, or the day after that. It may take very long for you to heal and that’s okay. You may fight your whole life for your good days, but that’s okay. Trust me, those good days are worth it. And even if the rest of the world doesn’t understand you, know that I do. Know that there are thousands of people out there who understand what it’s like to drown in their own thoughts and feel as if they’re not good enough. But also know that you are enough, you always have been and you always will be. One day, you too will be a survivor. So just continue to hold out for that day.

And to those who don’t understand what it’s like to suffer from a mental illness, that’s okay too. Just know that in someone’s darkest times, you don’t have to be the light to save them. Sometimes, the biggest thing someone needs is a voice of encouragement; just a small glimmer of hope.

At 18 years old, I am a survivor of my own depression but so are hundreds of other people my age too. Just because you can’t see my illness doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. I am a “survivor of my depression” but those words do not define me.

If you or someone you know is suffering from depression and needs to reach out to somebody please contact 1-800-273-8255