This time last year, I called my mom sobbing, frantically screaming that I didn't want to be alive anymore. After staying on the phone with me for hours while I took the emergency Ativan I was prescribed and finally fell asleep, my mom drove 7 hours through the night and stayed in a hotel with me for two days to ensure that I wouldn't hurt myself.

This time last year, I was diagnosed with panic disorder. I was constantly experiencing panic attacks that came out of no where. They made my whole body tingle and my heart beat out of my chest and in the midst of one I could swear I was going to die. I could no longer go out, I pushed all my friends away, and lived in fear of when the next panic attack would come.

This time last year, I started to experience depression. If you thought the panic attacks sounded scary, this was 100 times scarier. Depression feels like being held captive at the bottom of a well, "Silence of the Lambs" style. I thought my panic disorder would never get better; that I'd never be myself again, so what was the point? During Christmas Break, I thought about dying every day.

This time last year, I started Zoloft. I cried the whole first week that I had to take it. I felt crazy because I was officially "medicated". That meant it was real.

At the end of 2015, I hit rock bottom. And then in the beginning of 2016, I hit rock bottom again. I'll probably hit rock bottom 100 more times in my life. But the most important thing is that now, I know I can get through it.

I don't talk about my struggle with mental illness with many people, and even the people closest to me might not understand the severity of what I went through. But, I was inspired to write this when my friend told me about the struggle a friend of hers had with mental illness. My friend was so shocked that her friend had been secretly struggling because she had suffered in silence. Hearing her story, I realized how helpful it can be to share these things with one another. The stigma surrounding mental illness has prevented me from sharing the details of my struggle for so long, but I'm starting to understand how important it is for people to know that others have gone through something similar to them and made it through.

I have an absolutely amazing life, with a large support system in my hometown and at school, with a caring family and all the credentials of someone who should be happy. Yet, one year ago, I didn't want to be alive. I was terrified every day and didn't feel like I had anything to live for. I still don't know why or how this happened, because I've never experienced real struggle or any traumatic experience. I felt guilty that I had a great life and no reason to feel immensely scared or sad all time.

I realize now that it is the chemicals in my brain that made me feel this way, and I have nothing to be ashamed of. Zoloft, a medication that increases and regulates your serotonin levels, gave me my life back. I haven't had a panic attack in about 3 months, and I no longer live in fear that one could come at any minute.

There are still many things I am working on, and it's undoubtedly been an uphill battle. I haven't had alcohol in a year. This is something that I feel embarrassed to tell people, but I am sick of being ashamed. I often pretend to drink around others. For some reason, people really care if you drink. It's extremely hard to be sober in the college social scene, when every party revolves around people pounding back shots until they can't stand straight. Last November, I had one of my most traumatizing panic attacks while drinking. Since then, I have had a phobia of alcohol. This is something that I work on all the time. I can now take multiple sips of liquor without panicking, and I consider this a step in the right direction. It's funny that being drunk is a goal I have to work up to, but by my 21st birthday, I hope to be able to be happily drunk and panic free.

This year, I will be arriving home, happy to be there, and free from my constant panic and depression. I will be seeing all my friends because I want to, and waking up every day, happy to be alive. At my lowest point, I would have never imagined I would be where I am now.

Because of this experience, I have learned that those who matter, don't mind, and those who mind, don't matter. I've lost many friends because of my struggle with mental illness, and I don't blame them for not being able to handle it. I would never wish this upon anyone else, but one day, their daughters might call them up and say they don't want to be alive anymore. And maybe then, they will understand.

But where I've lost friends, I've gained better ones. Through this struggle, I've strengthened my bonds with some people tenfold. My friends have held me as I've sobbed in their arms, and even let me move into their apartment when I didn't feel comfortable living in my own. I've seen who will stick by me through thick and thin, and have become more compassionate and caring in my relationships with others. Now, I will always drop everything for a friend in need.

I wrote this article to let anyone struggling know, that from somewhere who has been there: it gets better. There are so many people who love you so much. Even in your darkest days, know that you will eventually be happy again. It sounds cliche as hell, but you are not alone. That's the most important thing to know: there are people there for you. There is a wealth of resources out there and you do not have to suffer through mental illness by yourself. To anyone who knows me, I don't want this article to make you sad. The most important message I want you to take away is that I'm okay. I suffered through a hard time, but I'm okay now. And if anyone who is reading this is suffering as well, just know: you will be okay too.