When it began, I did not know how to pinpoint what was happening to me. I felt like I was alone under a dark cloud while the rest of the world basked in the sunshine. I felt like someone had taken a vacuum hose and sucked all of the energy from my body. I felt like there was nothing that could happen to me that would make my life better or worse. I was in a state of limbo.

I attributed my moodiness to teen angst: I was almost 13 years old and had been uprooted from the only life I had ever known and transplanted into a town I did not want to be in. I was taken away from my grandparents who were my biggest fans and always made me feel loved. I was taken away from all of the friends I had gone to school with from the time we started kindergarten. Gone was my childhood and everything that had made me happy. No one asked me if I wanted to leave; I felt that I should have had a choice. I thought my unhappiness would pass quickly, that it was something I could easily control. So I gave it time.

I adjusted to my new school and made friends, and to the outside world, I was a perfectly normal seventh grader. I rode the bus to school, I had a group of people I sat with at lunch, I did my homework. I smiled and laughed and appeared to be carefree. The moment I got home each day, all of that changed: I retreated to my bedroom and did not come out unless absolutely necessary. I watched TV from my bed, I ate in bed, I scrolled through the Internet restlessly at 1 a.m. when my body refused to sleep. I pushed my family away. I could not keep the act going in front of them, so I tried to see them as little as possible. I could not fool my mom: she knew something serious was going on. She tried to take me to doctors, but I refused. I knew that what was happening to me was no longer normal, but I refused to be labeled, to be stigmatized. I thought I could handle it. It got to the point where I physically could not get out of bed and face everyone at school. Sometimes it was once a week, sometimes more than that. My mom was warned that my continued absence could result in a ticket or worse, but these were empty threats. I was somehow able to keep my straight A's the entirety of that year. I kept this pattern going until I was a junior in high school. That was the year I decided I wanted my life back and finally got help.

Directly following my surrender, I was too embarrassed to tell anyone the truth. I did not want to utter the word "antidepressant." I thought everyone would think I was a freak and run as fast as they could in the opposite direction. I was miserable in the beginning: the pills nauseated me, and my sleep was even more erratic. It took months for me to notice a change. I felt lighter somehow, and then it became apparent how much I was missing out on.

I rediscovered all that was beautiful in the world: sunrises and sunsets, freshly fallen snow, flowers beginning to bloom, and the songs of birds outside my window. Music sounded sweeter, and I was no longer listening to it solely in an attempt to feel something. I read slower, enjoyed what I was reading, and often found myself crying at sad/happy/miraculous/unsettling moments. I realized how much I loved being around certain people. I made plans outside of school, and these plans were no longer cancelled because of my sour moods. I learned to forgive. I learned to appreciate small acts. I was finally able to find the proverbial light switch after being stuck in the dark for so long.

It has now been over a year since I rediscovered the joy of living. I graduated high school and no longer am I afraid of leaving my house. I made it through my teen years, but not without more willpower than I knew I had. I have lived and loved and genuinely smiled. I have formed meaningful, lasting relationships with amazing people. I am now less than a month from starting college, and I have goals for the next five, ten years, something I never considered when my only thoughts were making it through the day. Battling depression was the hardest challenge I have ever had, a challenge I would not wish upon an enemy, but I am thankful for everything I have learned as a result. Because I had depression, every experience I have is valued that much more and looked at from a new perspective. I know that I am not cured, and I know I still have bad days ahead of me, but I found the power within myself to truly live and appreciate the wonderful things in life that much more.