Our society has its own perceived view of what depression looks like. If you're depressed, you're supposed to be sad all the time. You have to stay locked in your room all the time, channeling your inner Eeyore and listening to sad songs. It's easy to put depression into a box of symptoms, but that's not always the case.

I have always been a generally happy person. I had a good childhood and didn't have many problems in life until I was 14-years-old. It was at that age that my world crumbled down and I hit some of the lowest points of my life. Now, I know what you're thinking, "Come on, 14-year-olds don't have problems. You were just being dramatic." No, I wasn't and I'm not. I'll go into more detail in a later article, but I went through some very traumatic things when I was 14. Things no 14-year-old, or girl at any age, should have to go through. That was just the beginning. At 16, I was involved in a highly-toxic, abusive relationship that left me feeling broken and worthless. I was never the kind of person to wallow in self-pity though, so I relied heavily on God, my family, and my friends to help me through and I picked myself back up. I worked two jobs through my first two years of college and then moved from Florida to Alabama to finish my degree at Troy University. If you asked people around me if I was depressed, they definitely would have said no. By all accounts, I was a pretty happy person. I never let it show and always put on a smile around people. But what they didn't know is that I had gruesome nightmares every night that left me feeling emotionally drained and exhausted every day. Eventually, it got to the point that I would have a panic attack when I was getting ready for bed because I dreaded having another nightmare. The only time I could sleep in peace was during the day and, obviously, that wouldn't work since I had classes and projects.

My first trip to the university counselor's office was a very difficult one. I only went because my best friend and parents kept encouraging me to go. I didn't want to admit it was that bad of a problem. "I'm a Christian," I thought. "If I have to go to a counselor, I must not be trusting in God like I need to be." But there I was, sitting in my car in the counselor's driveway, praying no one I knew would see my car while I was there. I slowly walked up the steps and opened the door to what felt like my doom. I wanted to tell the receptionist, "Hey, my name's Sheri and I promise I'm not crazy. I don't even know what I'm doing here," but instead I kept my cool and told her I had a 1:30 appointment. She got my counselor and, after a brief introduction, my counselor led me to her office and motioned to a pair of chairs against the wall. As I sat down, I couldn't help but feel like a bug under a microscope. I kept feeling like I didn't belong there. After a bit of small talk, I tried my best to explain what was going on. She asked about my school, grades, social life and personal life. Finally, after talking for what seemed like forever, she put down her notepad and looked at me very seriously. "First off, I want you to know that you aren't crazy," she said. "Your nightmares are a form of PTSD as a result of your abusive relationship. You also have what we call 'high-functioning depression and anxiety.'"

That can't be right, I thought. Those things happen when you aren't following God like you're supposed to or something. I'm just anti-social, not depressed.

But the more we talked about it, the more I realized she was right. I had never heard of high-functioning depression before, but I realized it was more common than I thought. I thought about my friends who had depression and how you never would have known with the majority of them. I thought about how so many people say "I had no idea" when someone commits suicide and it comes out that they had depression. In fact, many psychiatrists observe more high-functioning depressives with seemingly “perfect" lives commit suicide than those whose battles are much more obvious. How many times are people told that they're fine because they don't fit a list of symptoms that we think defines a mental illness? How many people think they're alone in how they feel because no one talks about it? How many people feel like they're going crazy because no one understands or believes them? How many people don't get the help they need because their symptoms are different than the stereotypical symptoms?

I'm here to tell you that you're not alone and you're not crazy. High-functioning depression is very treatable. It's not a bad thing to ask for help. If you're religious, it doesn't mean you aren't trusting God enough. You're only human and sometimes, humans need help. And that's perfectly OK.

After a few weeks of counseling, I started on anti-depressant medication and things started getting a bit better. After a few months, I was able to wean myself off of my medication and my nightmares began to slowly go away. Every now and then, I'll have a panic or anxiety attack if things get really bad, but a quick phone call to my best friend or closing my eyes and reminding myself that God's got this will usually calm me down pretty quick now. I still have the occasional nightmare and my depression is still active but it's definitely not as bad as it was. But I think it's time we start talking about these things and stop letting so many people slip under the radar.