I always knew I was different. But I never really knew why.

It all started when I was in Kindergarten. My teacher points to a picture of a smiling cartoon face and says "what makes you happy?" The teacher went around the room, and kids chimed in, naming things that made them smile. As it got closer and closer to my turn, I got more and more nervous. I had no idea what happy meant. So little me just answered the question with something that always made me smile: chocolate.

As the years went by, I could never really grasp what this "happy" thing was. All I understood about it was the fact that being happy was a good thing, and when people were happy, they smiled. And because I was afraid to admit the fact that I could not understand this very basic concept, I just put a smile on my face when I was participating in events that were supposedly supposed to be "happy" things: spending time with friends and family, eating ice cream, watching a funny tv show.

But despite this "happy" demeanor, every day was a struggle for me. On the inside, I felt very empty. There were days when I would be so emotionally drained from putting on a show of being a “normal,” “happy” person, I felt like I couldn't even move from my bed.

But this was my normal, and I just couldn't wrap my mind around "normal" being any other way. So for years, I didn't question it. I put on a "mask" pretending that I understood happiness, and I went about life like every other human being would. I had friends, I was involved in every activity you could imagine, and I was an exemplary student. This system worked for me for a very long time, but, thankfully, not forever.

My senior year of high school I was presented with challenges that most 17 year olds should never have to face. With several deaths of classmates, an incredibly intense academic schedule, and several unhealthy relationships, I snapped. I cried all the time, sometimes I would burst into tears in the middle of class for no reason and not know why. I contemplated suicide many times. At one point I was even sent to the hospital because I had hurt myself. It was at this point that I went to a doctor, and he told me they were going to put me on bipolar medication.

Bipolar Medication? Why would you ever put me on bipolar medication? I never had extreme mood swings, The doctor explained to me that there are two types of bipolar. Bipolar 2, my disorder, is where people go from sad to sadder, almost an extreme form of depression. The doctor told me that by taking these medications, I would be able to function more normally and more effectively.

At first, I was worried that the medication would somehow change who I was when I took it. This wasn’t the case. As I continued to take the medication, I still liked the same things, I still ate the same foods and had the same habits. For a few months, I questioned whether or not the medication was even working, because I did feel so much like myself. Then one night, I remember sitting down with my mom and dad to watch a movie, and we ended up talking and laughing instead. And something amazing happened.

I felt happy.

I finally understood what that word meant. What it meant to be purely content with a situation, and yourself. Later that evening, when I finally could put a word to that feeling, I cried tears of joy. Because this concept that I could not grasp for my entire life was finally within my hands, and I finally understood what all the hype was about with this “happiness” thing.

This revelation was not just the result of the medication. I put a lot of work into myself after I started seeing a psychiatrist. I went to therapy. I pushed the negative people out of my life and welcomed in only positivity. I went to college and started a completely new life.

Granted, my healing period was faced with much adversity. Even though I never knew I was bipolar, it genuinely is something that I have struggled with my entire life. I just never knew it, nor did anyone around me. Yet high school is a time when things fall apart for a lot of people in terms of mental health, and people discover things that they have been bottling up for their entire lives. It is also a time where people are very resistant to acknowledging that people can be different, and that being different doesn’t make a person crazy. The fact of the matter was, by the time I snapped my senior year, I could not control my actions. I did the things I did because I literally could not control my body to do anything else. But that is a very hard concept for young people to wrap their minds around. It is still hard for me to truly understand these things, and I am the one who has gone through them.

For this reason, furthering the education of mental heath in our school is crucial. If people had a better understanding of what I was going through, maybe I could have healed in peace, without having the anxiety of being judged throughout my final days in my hometown. If I had a better understanding of mental health, maybe I could have had a better understanding of my own symptoms, or talked to someone sooner.

I have found that as I have healed, and gained more control of my emotions, people have been more open to asking me about my disorder. And I am incredibly open about everything that has happened to me. Everyone who has been through mental health struggles before should be. As a survivor, it is our job to share our stories, and raise awareness, so that the next kindergartener who doesn’t understand what that smiling face means will grow up in a world where they aren’t scared to admit it.