Feb. 21, 1996, before I was even born, a beautiful soul came into this world. His parents didn't know how much of an impact this person would have on so many people; they didn't know how many lives he would save...including mine.

I never thought that at an age of 16 I'd have to bury him with my own hands and a shovel. I also never thought that it would be someone else in a grave; I always thought it would be me.

It would be his 20th birthday not too long from now. And as I near my own 20th birthday, I've been reflecting on what that tumultuous time in my life was like.

High school sucked for me. It was the time that my anxiety and depression crippled me the most, and I was exhausted from the mundane routine of waking up at 6:30 a.m. and going to a place where I was subject to judgement. The one thing I remember constantly telling my parents as to why I didn't want to go to school was, "I don't want anyone to see me."

I never thought I'd live to receive my high school diploma because I just didn't want to live. I was convinced this world would be a better place simply without me in it. I'd walk in the middle of the road at night, not caring if a car hit me, and sometimes secretly hoping one would. I wanted to die by accident and not my own hand -- only because I didn't want the pain to weigh on my family and friends as to why they couldn't help me.

But as I sit here now and tearfully write this, I want anyone in high school struggling to know how much more there is in the world other than that dark place you're in.

I refuse to lie and say that everything gets better because the truth is there's always going to be something that'll make the day hard. I refuse to say that my anxiety and depression subsided over time, it's a part of me. I deal with it every day of my life, still. But I wake up every day and tell myself, "I'm not going to let it win today."

All you can do is take it day by day, and as treacherous and debilitating as I know that sounds...as each minute gone by is just as difficult...life is worth fighting for. It's the most precious gift we have, really the only thing all we have. I do live my life for myself, but I also live my life for the other people around me. Seeing other people smile on days when I feel I simply can't is the hope that keeps me walking on. Because even if I can't generate those happy emotions in my present moment, I know they still exist, and I know I can attain them.

If you feel like no one understands, take it from someone who has lived through it, and still lives through it. If you're looking for a sign to be brand new, or a reason to hold on, let this be it.

I used to write down all the things I wish I could tell my friend if he were still alive, but recently I've come to understand how silly that was. Now, I just talk to him. I feel him when the wind goes through my hair, or the sun shines on the side of my face walking to class. He never really left, he just took a different form. He's my battle armor each day when I wake up to fight my own mental illnesses, and when I fall down he's the cushion beneath me. And when I need a hand to get back up, he's there.

Happy birthday, Anthony. Thank you for your guidance and eternal spirit.

In loving memory of Anthony Greenberg, Jr.

Feb. 21, 1996 -- Sept. 16, 2011