I was a freshman in college when I really started contemplating suicide. I was in a dark, dark place. A place where seeing the faint light wasn't worth fighting for. I thought that I could handle it. I thought that I was strong enough to deal with this on my own. I thought that I could solve this, alone. But I couldn't.

I didn't tell anyone, not a single soul for months; nearly six months. It's not something that naturally flows in everyday conversation, you know? And it's hard to choose who you let it out to. Will they understand? Will they judge? How can they actually help?

I started skipping classes. Didn't leave my dorm room unless I needed food or water. I slept for days on end. I was in a place where running my car into a pole sounded better than waking up every day. Where acts of self-harm were completed in hopes of feeling something. To feel something. To feel anything. I had gone from feeling constant pain to being completely numb, and I didn't care. I didn't care about anything.

There were days that I could con myself into thinking I didn't feel this way. I went to work or to class and nothing was different. I would smile and laugh and put on this front where no one could tell, not even my closest friends.

I read an article on one of my darkest days; it basically said you should find something or someone to fight for. Use that/them as your drive, your motivation, your yearning to feel, your want to live again. The position I was in at this time led me to choose a person. A person I cared for deeply, someone who was giving me the will to live. They were my motivation. And that was a mistake.

The pressure and strain that I consciously and subconsciously put on that relationship ultimately destroyed it, which kind of defeated the purpose in the first place.

I remember a day when I realized; I literally had no other choice than to choose myself. I was my own last choice. I had to pick up my own pieces and put myself back together because no one else was going to.

There was a day when I woke up and everything didn't feel so heavy. I mean, it was all still there, but it wasn't overbearing. It's so important to recognize these days. These are signs of tremendous progress. And then another day I woke up and wanted to be social, and got dressed and put on make-up. And so on and so on until you start to feel human again. You just have to take things day by day.

There was a moment after having a good day when I realized; I wanted to fight for me. I was fighting for myself. For the person I was growing to be, for the person I wanted to be and for the person I was that particular day. And that feeling... it's empowering.

There are still days when I feel weak and helpless. Where I feel like I could spend weeks among weeks in my bed. Where it's easily susceptible to go back to such a place when things start to pile on; when I have a few bad days or a rough week.

Sometimes I drive past the places I had mapped out for my final scene and I'm reminded of the pain and hurt I've endured. Sometimes the thought of "it would just be easier" still crosses my mind. But I know that act is selfish and cowardly.

I felt like I had this scrape or small cut and then something would happen and I'd fall, and it would get a little bigger. And then again, and again. Until my wound was too large for a band-aid to cover. Sometimes I would I pick at the scab and watch it bleed. I felt like I was constantly wishing time away because I couldn't be bothered to be patient and treat it. Instead of constantly trying to replace the bondage or sew the stitches again, I can now let it breathe. I am able to give the wound the time it deserves to heal.

I have a complicated relationship with alone time. I personally need time to recharge and be alone and just gather myself. But there's a thin line where too much time alone can cross into dangerous territory; where I'm sometimes at risk of going down that dark alley again.

It's still hard to let people in; at what point have they earned the right? At what point do they deserve the right? It's never an easy conversation, but I've found that if you choose wisely, empathy and compassion are traits among many.

So here's what I want for you: understand what/whom you're fighting for. Make sure it's genuine and authentic, to you. I'm not here to preach the cliché "it gets better" or tell you that every day is great, because it's not. It's something you have to work for, work hard for.

Know that nothing is ever going to change unless you truly want it to.

Understand the value of that statement.

Fighting for yourself and your mental wellbeing means sacrificing. It means letting go of the negative and toxic relationships. It means no longer catering to those who make empty promises, and yet still drain your energy. It means forgiveness. Forgiveness is the key to love. Forgiving others, and forgiving yourself. Loving yourself. Taking control of the negative thoughts and feelings you may feel, transforming those thoughts into silence, and then learning to evict from your mind.

Fighting for yourself is fighting for others.

It doesn't come overnight, it doesn't come in a week. It's a long process. You have to start from the beginning; learn to love yourself, you have to know how to support yourself, it's about getting to know who you are, knowing, then valuing your worth.

You are beautiful and amazing. You are smart and kind. You are loved. Your life is worth living.

Remember, it's just a bad day, not a bad life. Today is a good day to have a good day. Live in and for the moment, it will allow you feel more joy, more often. This life is short and beautiful, and it's actually our job to live it to the best of our abilities.