We all have them: no-good, dirty, rotten, lay-down-and-roll-over-to-try-again days. Those days you just wish you had kept the receipt so you could return it immediately. Sometimes you have a few of these unwanted days in a row, maybe two or three, but they pass. Or sometimes, these days bring suitcases and toothbrushes, and two or three days in a row turn into a year, or a couple years in a row.

Reflecting on my sophomore year of college is similar to watching a scary movie. You keep yelling at the aesthetically-pleasing, intelligence-lacking actors and actresses.

"Stop! Do not open that door! You know it's behind that door!"

Let's face it. They always open the door.

This year began with one unfortunate event that seemed to create a series of unfortunate events, unrelated to the charming, children's novels written by Lemony Snicket. I injured my shoulder quite severely the week before I was scheduled to return to school, resulting in a need for surgery and a medical redshirt year for basketball. I returned to school in pain, mentally and physically. I was disappointed in my inability to play basketball, I was feeling a constant throbbing in my shoulder and my pride was rather bruised from the inability to button my own pants.

I eventually began to "pull myself up by my bootstraps." I learned how to grasp I wasn't playing basketball, I learned that massive amounts of Vitamin I (Ibuprofen) do wonders for throbbing and I became surprisingly capable with my arm in a sling. That was it, everything was fabulous, comparable to that of a "High School Musical" number, nothing but rainbows and candy bridges, right?

Wrong. Oh, how I wish that were the case.

I began to change. Instead of strolling to class slowly, gazing at the flowers and saying "hello" to as many that would respond. I found myself walking to class quickly, looking down to avoid making eye contact with others. I found myself smiling and laughing less. I was very serious and uptight. Yes, me, uptight. I began to sleep minimally and eat less, two of my most favorite things. I talked to my loved ones very minimally, also strange for me. I became beyond OCD, counting steps, calories, developing patterns and routines. I filled my extra time with excessive amounts of working out or studying, rather than random shenanigans and adventures. Honestly, anything that involved me being alone.

I felt as though someone had reached inside me and taken all of my emotions, the good and the bad. I could hardly look in the mirror anymore, and if I did, I would tear myself apart, dissecting and judging every single piece of myself. People would ask me if I was doing OK, if I was sick, if I needed anything. I would always respond in my lying voice (far too high pitched), "I'm great! Just on the mend from this injury!"

Truthfully, it wasn't just the injury. I was depressed. I was very, very, very depressed. I slowly became a shell of myself and sadly, I hated the shell. I felt myself change. I was aware that I wasn't the same Syd everyone knew and loved, but I refused to admit that I was far from OK.

I finally hit a low, a rock bottom, a lower than "Get Low" by Lil Jon & The East Side Boyz low. Details are irrelevant at this point, but the fact that it caused me to seek help and reach out to my family, friends and a therapist is relevant. It was difficult for me to ask for help, I actually felt guilty for needing to ask, as well as a string of other emotions. Embarrassed, incapable, all-around small, just to touch on a few.

I could continue to stretch this story out detail for detail quite effortlessly, but it would turn into a novel, probably resembling something of Mr. Snicket's. So instead, I will inform you that after many therapy sessions, long talks and cries with family and friends, lessons from my God, self-reflections, life changes and good, ole' time, I am happy to announce I am in a healthy state.

Looking back, I am thankful for the adversity I had to overcome during that dreadful year. It has strengthened me, softened me and opened my mind and heart in ways that I would never have known were possible. It is now a small piece of my puzzle of a life, but it in no way, shape or form defines me.

So why, family, friends and acquaintances, have I decided to shed light on this dark nugget of my past? Because that is just it, many of you had no idea. None. So many of us are walking around with this heavy monster we call depression on our backs. It is suffocating, overwhelming, unbearable, but instead of asking for help, we use our lying voice to say we are OK. So I say enough, speak up, ask for help! It truly is the only way to remove the load that you just cannot carry anymore.

We would never withhold help from a fellow loved one if they were experiencing what you are, yet you will not extend yourself the same grace. You are not alone in your struggle, nor will you ever be. Joy can be found again, laughter returns, peace comes back when invited and the smiles? The smiles sneak back when you least expect them.