Note: This post is personal narrative of my struggles with depression. It could be a trigger for some...

You hear simple sentences like these all the time:

"It get's better." "There's a light at the end of the tunnel." "Can't you see the silver-lining?" "Why don't you just try and be grateful??"

It's easy to say these things, but what about actually believing them?

A lot of people would consider me to be an open/vulnerable person, but something I've told very, very few people is that I have struggled with depression since middle school...

At first it wasn't something I felt was serious. I thought that it was normal to feel really low; I mean, I was just being a hormonal girl, right?

It would come in waves. For months, years even, everything would be fine, and then, out of nowhere, I would get taken under.

The stress of high school did little to help my cause. Feeling alone, the lack of interpersonal relationships and time with God, and a new, extremely competitive school environment had me scrambling to try and keep myself together.

I thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown.

Somehow I made it through. That's a good thing, right? I was able to just push through, make good grades, and stay away from those dark places in my mind.

Everything was great... On the surface.

Fast forward to freshman year of college: Moving 2200 miles away from home, being separated from all close friends and family, taking on too many things, and losing one of the most important people in my life sent me into a downward spiral that would take me months to see.

First semester wasn't so bad. I think I was still in shock about everything. I could just keep my head down and pretend that nothing had changed. The truth was that everything had changed.

The second semester, however, things took a turn for the dark.

I couldn't get myself out of bed. My GPA was taking a nose dive. I couldn't understand, or even see, the love my friends had for me. I was in a continual slump.

There was no light. I couldn't see things ever getting better. And I sure as hell wasn't just grateful to be here.

I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to be alive.

Then one night, everything came together in one horribly twisted storm.

I was failing two classes, my grandfather's first birthday not on the earth had just passed, and I thought my life was completely falling apart.

I wrote a note, put on my going-out clothes, and drank. I drank a lot. I drank it very quickly. And I drank some more.

I knew this wasn't the right coping mechanism, but that was my best option at the moment, so I thought...

The next morning I was not dead. The only thing I had actually accomplished was pissing off quite a few people.

I wouldn't know what actually happened that night until a couple of days later; I sometimes wish I hadn't found out.

The next few months were a blur. All I wanted to do was pass my classes and get back home. I went to therapy, started going to church again, and let my friends love me --they had no idea what really happened that night.

Summer was even harder. Even though I was home, I still felt like a stranger. I was having really high highs, and disparagingly low lows. I started to have anxiety for that first time in my life. Honestly, I felt terribly alone.

I thought that just ignoring myself would help, but my body had other ideas.

After years of emotional stuffing, and hiding from my feelings, I literally could not take it anymore.

Now I'm getting better. I go to therapy and am actually (trying) to be honest about my life. I have amazing friends who know when I'm going dark, and I'm slowly but surely learning that I'm not defective, silly, or just being ungrateful.

I have issues. I don't know why or where they came from, or even if everything will get better, but for now, I'm oka, I'm loved, and life is bright.

"Keep smiling because life is a beautiful thing, and there's so much to smile about." --Marilyn Monroe