I’ve struggled with depression and the stigma that surrounds it since fourth grade.

Thankfully, this reprieve lasted for the rest of middle school. At the beginning of eighth grade, I started feeling sad. All the time. I didn’t know why--I was being bullied, but not nearly as much as in elementary school. I had a solid group of friends who were consistently there for me, and I wasn’t struggling academically.

I contribute my reprieve to me being in the closet at the time. I cautiously started telling my friends and family that I was bisexual. While I never got an outright negative response, my desolate feelings didn’t go away, they got worse.

I started withdrawing from my family, constantly snapping at my siblings, and especially my father. I was always angry and irritable. It confused them, and it confused me. I didn’t understand what was going through my mind because there was never a solid reason for it. Things that I’d always found joy in--swimming, bike riding, playing with my sisters--all became uninteresting and tiresome. Getting out of bed in the morning was a chore, and by the time I got home from school I was exhausted. My parents became increasingly concerned, but I never had an answer for them.

It was only when I began having thoughts of suicidal ideation that I knew something was seriously wrong. At the time, I didn't really know what these thoughts meant. I spent time researching online and came to the conclusion that I had depression. I was embarrassed and afraid of asking for help. Although my parents had never been anything but understanding, I feared of being told it was all in my head. That my situation wasn’t that bad and I needed to get over it. In the meantime, my symptoms worsened--I faked illness to avoid going to school. School drained all of my energy, and I began having severe anxiety at just the thought of entering the building. I started eating anything I could get my hands on as a coping mechanism, my self-image was at an all time low. I felt guilty every moment I was home for the way I lashed out at my family.

Finally, when I felt I couldn’t take it one more second, I confided in my mother what was happening inside my head. She immediately took me to see a doctor, and I was soon officially diagnosed with clinical depression. I was given medication, and for a while, this helped things. This wasn’t the end of my battle with depression.

I struggled for years with almost all known symptoms. I frequently succumbed to my own pessimistic thoughts. For awhile, I feared I wouldn’t graduate from high school.

I graduated as one of the top in my class.

Though I’m grateful that my depression is much better now than in high school, I still fight my own brain on a daily basis.

This is just my personal experience with mental illness. However, it is one of many. Millions of people in the U.S. and around the world have depression or another form of mental illness with depression as a symptom. Throughout April and May, I plan to explore depression and anxiety through my own background, other people’s stories, and medical facts surrounding the subject.

As sad as my story sounds so far, there have been many happy moments in my life. I’ve gotten so much support from family and friends throughout my recovery process.

Next week, I’ll write about how I learned to cope with my depression.