Some facts about me: I’m a junior in college. I play guitar. I love smoothies. I’m obsessed with Adam Rippon. I have depression.

All of those things are equally as important to who I am as the next. At least, they are on a good day. During a bad day, bad week, bad month, my life is a lot less balanced.

In high school, I read a poem by Kait Rokowski, and her line “depression is a good lover” has gnawed at my insides ever since. Depression doesn’t just love company. Depression survives on it. And it will do whatever it can to make sure nothing gets in its way.

Let's sleep all day, depression says. Let’s watch Netflix. Let’s ignore texts. Forget going to class. Forget talking. Showering. Eating.

I have been in an abusive relationship with my mental illness. I've spent days curled up next to my depression in bed, listening to it tell me lies. It's lied about how perfect we are together. It's lied about how I could never find anything better. It's lied about how I don't deserve to leave.

This article is not a cure for depression. I can't give you a guide on how I managed to end things. How I was able to get up and get dressed and finally see a doctor. Sometimes, there are just breaks in the storm. Sometimes, you see sunlight and feel it on your skin and realize that there’s more in the world than your ten-cubic-feet of bedroom. Sometimes, a good feeling stays a bit longer than usual, and sometimes, you make use of that tiny blip in time. You get help.

Sometimes is not all the time, obviously. So I’m imploring anyone who identifies with this in the slightest to reach out. I don’t know how make “get help” less cliché. I don’t know how to rephrase “people care about you,” so it isn’t washed up.

But here’s what I know isn’t cliché: feeling really, really great for the first time in a long time. Feeling connected to your body. Feeling the sun on your arms and legs and almost crying because it feels so good.

Medication is not a cure for depression. Nor is talking to someone or going outside or drinking enough water.

But I feel so good now that I'm getting help, and I want everyone to know. Those who don’t feel the weight of depression, those who never have, and especially those who feel it now, heavy on their bodies. I want them to hear that I’ve had more than a few good days recently. I want them to know that I’m celebrating being a junior in college. That I’m going to keep practicing guitar. That I’m savoring strawberry-banana smoothies. That I’m cry-laughing at Adam Rippon interviews.

That I’m on antidepressants, and I’m trying my hardest to make everything matter equally.