It feels like an eternity since I was sitting in my psychiatrist's office in April of 2019, crying in fear as she told me I had a severe anxiety disorder and major clinical depression. Fear of finally realizing there was a reason I begged my mom not to tell the waitress I ordered a sprite, not a coke, and fear for what living with anxiety and depression for the rest of my life would be – and look - like. You see, I had suffered from anxiety and depression my entire life, but it was on that day that I started beginning to understand why I had felt the way I had for the past eighteen years, and it was terrifying.

I could write a million articles stemming from my experience with mental health, and I, honestly, probably will, so I'll try to keep this one as narrow and short as I can, lest this article will turn into a novel.

A month ago today I moved into the College of William and Mary as a new freshman. My mindset going into this new school year amidst a pandemic was "expect the unexpected", and boy did I get just that. For the first three weeks, I was on a cloud 9. I was happy all the time: I loved my roommate, I loved the friends we were making, and I started talking to an amazing guy. I was, quite literally, thriving. I woke up late and had to run to a few classes, I did not read each of my homework readings in the kind of depth I would usually do, and I stayed up past three a.m. on most nights – all without experiencing an abnormal amount of anxiety, I felt like a real person. But along the way, I stopped taking my medication. With the late nights, my medication was the last thing on my mind as I stumbled back to my dorm room.

And then it hit like a brick wall.

I love that Suicide Awareness Month this year is being broadcasted widely on social media; I love that people are talking about mental health in a casual way; I love that we are starting to break the stigma. But all of these things also hit so differently when you are starting to feel that cloud fully strangling you again, just to open Instagram and see a story about depressive signs and the number for the Suicide Hotline.

Again, I am keeping this article short with guarantees that there will be more to follow. But I just wanted to remind everyone that this s*** is real. It doesn't go away. You can have a tremendous high just to reach that tremendous low again overnight. It's an inescapable illness, but it is an illness that can be treated. The pain can be mitigated. You can feel better.

Oh, yeah, and also…. if you're anything like me…this is your reminder to take your damn meds.