I've struggled with depression since I was 12 years old. I will be turning 21 this summer, and my depression has not, and will not, ever go away. Within the past few years, especially during my time at college, I have become more acutely aware of my depression, mainly because it never leaves me alone. When I was 18, I was prescribed Lexapro for my depression and anxiety, and within a year, my medication changed to Zoloft. Though I have sought therapy and have taken anti-depressants, I still suffer from depressive days. This is what a typical day in a depressive episode might look like for me:

I wake up in the morning after hitting my snooze consistently for the past hour or so. I roll over, turn off the alarm and stare at the ceiling. I don't think; I just lay there. After some time goes by (provided I don't go back to sleep), I find the energy to rouse myself from my bed and trudge to the shower. I turn the knob on the shower and stand under it for what seems like forever. I don't care about the time, I just care about how the warmth comforts me and allows me to exist in an almost womb-like state. I rest my head on the wall of the shower wonder if I will even have the energy to put on clothes and go to class.

If I am not late, by some miracle, I will find clothes clean enough to pass and run my fingers through my hair. If I make it around to brushing my teeth, I dare not look in the mirror. If I look in the mirror, I will hate what I see, and I don't have the energy to hate anything right now.

If I don't miss my class, I will sit in lecture and doodle on my paper. The professor's notes will come and go, like a river that brings new water and clears the old as it flows, leaving no information behind. The minutes will seem to drag on forever, and I find myself staring at the clock, wondering when I can go back to my dorm room and let myself be empty.

Class after class goes by, and I sit there staring blankly as the professor lectures so passionately about the subject. I think to myself, I wish I could be passionate about something. I wish I could feel anything at all. By this point it is mid-afternoon, class is over, and I find myself growing hungry. I pass by the cafeteria and the other restaurants on campus without batting an eye. Food looks awful. It turns my stomach, and my brain rewards me for not eating. My brain says, "Good, you didn't need that bagel, you wouldn't want to get fat."

I neglect my homework for the day. I have no more energy left. My bed still exists in its messy, unmade state from this morning, and I crawl back into it without hesitation. Should I remain undisturbed, I will quickly fall asleep. If my friends call or text, I'll tell them that I have a cold and don't want to go out. I learned a long time ago that a physical illness is taken a lot more seriously than a mental one.

I sleep for hours on end. Eight hours of sleep become 12, then 15, then 20, and even then I am still exhausted. My sleep takes me away from a place shrouded in hues of gray and at least lets me live in a fantasy world for a time. My friends stop seeing me around. The calls to my boyfriend become shorter and shorter or stop completely. My mom asks me what I've had to eat today.

When I tell people "I'm sorry, I'm having a depressive episode," they ask me why I'm not better. They scoff and tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself. That my problems aren't as bad as I'm making them out to be. I try to explain to them that my brain doesn't function normally, and I cannot help the way I feel. They never listen.

Sometimes I wish I could just sleep forever.

Please do not be afraid to reach out to your friends and loved ones when they are battling depression. Together we are stronger than the demons that live inside of our minds. Depression works in silence, and we can defeat it by talking openly about it. It is time that we erase the stigma.