I have always felt depressed, but nothing like I did after my dad passed. Everyone struggles with some type of mental illness and has their own story on how they finally decided they needed to do something about it. This is my story on my mental illness and how I decided to get help.

This was my second year of college; still a fresh out of my parent house. I got my first apartment and had to pay rent for the first time ever. I needed to find a job, while doing well in school and buy groceries and electricity. I was stressed beyond belief; I didn't know how to cope with anything. There would be nights I would cry myself to sleep or call crying to my sister.

It got to the point where my mind turned dark and I couldn't see or hear passed it. It told me there was only one way to release all of the stress. And that was to hurt myself, and that's exactly what I did.

I used to self-harm every single day, whether I was having a bad day or a good day; it became my addiction. I would have cuts on my arm from my wrist up to my elbow. Some deeper than others and some not that bad; it always just depended on how my day went.

It wasn't so bad in my opinion. I was self-harming so what? But then it started getting worse. At that time I no longer wanted to be alive. The voices were getting louder telling me I was useless and that everyone would be fine without me. A lot of people told me that it wasn't true, but of course, I didn't believe them.

I gave myself two choices; one to live and be happy and stop doing what I am doing or choice number two, just end my life and be done with all of it. I decided I didn't want to think like this and finally decided that I was going to get help. My wonderful roommates brought me to the ER. There I was treated and diagnosed. I was diagnosed with major depression, mild anxiety, and a small case of borderline personality.

The first couple days I didn't want to eat or drink anything. I stayed in my room and slept a lot. I felt even more depressed and more anxious. I couldn't believe I let myself get this far. I always thought self-harming was something I would never do.

As the days went on I started to feel comfortable and safe there and I did realize that I wasn't the only one going through something rough. There were people there for all different reasons and have been there a lot longer than I have.

After a week being admitted I was finally released. I felt good but still had really bad anxiety. It was like that for about a day. I was afraid my roommates were judging me. Of course, that was just my anxiety talking. I started meeting with a therapist and started taking Zoloft.

I was clean from self-harming for about 6 months before I relapsed. The medicine stopped working and I felt 10xs worse than I did before I was admitted; I wanted to take my life again. I then again relapsed 3 months later. I can now say I am in a better place and I have been clean for about 5 months.

I still have my bad days and goods days. I am so thankful to still be here today. I just want to thank everyone for staying by my side while I have been growing through this life changing phase. I love you all.