I have always been the person to volunteer to help with school functions, get involved, and put myself out there to show the world how much I can contribute. I believe I gained this trait from my mom. We both love to be involved and help others out. This is a blessing and a curse. It's always nice to help someone, but sometime's it's upsetting when you don't get that help back.

I think that when I was in high school, I kept myself so busy with basketball, student government, leadership committee, classes, and work that I had no time to think about if I was truly happy. When college started I kept myself busy with classes, work, sorority sisters. This past summer was the first summer that I lived away from my parents. I moved out of my parents home and into an apartment closer to my university. I had a PERFECT roommate all summer, we spent the majority of our free time together and became extremely close.

It was during this past summer that my mom, dad, and boyfriend noticed that I was not really myself anymore, and I have not been since. I found myself sleeping in until the early afternoon. I would get up, go to work, and go to bed. I was not eating healthy, I was sleeping too much, and was extremely sensitive to everything. It got to the point where nobody could say anything to me without me getting upset. My mom suggested I go to the doctors to get myself checked out. We thought it was my anxiety. When I got to the doctors and told them what was going on I began crying. It came out of nowhere.

My doctor diagnosed me with depression. I couldn't think of why I, of all people, would be depressed. My family and I got along. My boyfriend was a few hours away, but I saw him often. Work was going well. Like everyone, I had some unfortunate events occur over the summer but I did not think I would be "depressed" because of them.

I was prescribed some medicine, that I can't remember the name of now, and was told to take it once every day right before bed. The medicine put me to sleep immediately. I found myself getting up earlier, crying less, and being more productive. I thought the medicine was a success until I forgot to take it one night after work. The next day I felt so low again, which made me realize my body now depended on that medicine. The thought of being dependent on a medicine made me sick to my stomach. I did not want that. I went back to the doctors for a check-up after being on this medicine for a month, and he raised the dosage. I was always told to listen to my doctor, so I took this higher dosage for about two days.

I hated it. I was feeling better, happier, more motivated, but it was not actually me. I stopped taking the medicine, cold turkey, and it showed. For about a week after I stopped taking the medicine I was a total grouch. At this point in time, my parents and I were not speaking. So I basically took it all out on my boyfriend. We were fighting constantly. I was always upset, crying, and felt like I was not important more than I ever did before.

I knew I had to focus my energy into anything other than looking at all the negatives. I began channeling my energy into school, sorority stuff, work, and getting my life organized once again.

Now, three months later, my parents and I are talking again and we are closer than ever. I am only working three days a week at Outback Steakhouse, taking fifteen credit hours, and am planning homecoming for my sorority. I still have those sparks of sadness, but I have found ways to try to talk myself out of the sad days and keep myself focused on my long-term goal: to be happy for good.