It started when I was around 10. I found my energy slowing leaving me, and suddenly getting out of bed was hard. I couldn't really see a point to doing much of anything, including schoolwork. After school activities that used to be the highlight of my life were now dull and gray. Everything was a something like watching a movie -- a whole lot of action around you while you stay static.

Following that came the incredible mood swings. I wouldn't ever say I was emotionless, but I certainly had a control on my feelings. Suddenly, I was spiraling downward. I would cry at the drop of a pin over something completely unreasonable. And it would build up for months, and in the months in between the world would be gray. Then I would lose all control I had. I'd then cycle in between having an incredible appetite and being lucky to eat half of a meal a day; sleeping nonstop or restlessly. My body became a dichotomous environment of which I wasn't in control.

Then came the forgetting. I was a grand master at this game. I forgot days of the week, important conversations, things I had to do. A fog surrounded my entire brain, reminding me of the existence of subject matter without granting me specifics. Facing the day became impossible, and I had to find a reason to continue moving instead of sitting down where I was and not moving(sometimes sitting down won). I distinctly remember climbing the stairs in my house one day and then collapsing and thinking "What's stopping me from staying here forever?" I found nothing, and it wasn't until my grandmother retrieved me that I moved again.

I suffered like this for a grand total of three years until my parents got me to therapy. I was finally getting the help I needed, but it never felt like enough. My problem wasn't emotional, it settled somewhere between my heart and my brain. It was a part of me that wouldn't be dislodged just through talking. My therapist recommended antidepressants. From there, it was nearly a four-year-long journey before I was on medication that started me on the right track. Most of the delay was due to doctors who refused to treat a patient like me -- meaning someone under the age of 18 with depression. In between were multiple health scares that were actually attributed, inevitably, to my mental illness and the problems it caused.

This is not an article. This is not a cry for help; I already have a wonderful support system. This is something more: a plea for education among the masses; an appeal for understanding; a request for patience.

This is not an article.