I wasn't myself anymore. I had no energy for the things that brought me happiness. I'm usually this bubbly person even on my bad days but then it started to feel like those bad days were turning into long months. I was adding new pain and insecurity to my old pain and insecurity. I would binge eat and imagine myself in television shows to forget the pain but then beat myself down when the series was over but left with extra weight. The worst part was nobody knew what I was going through until that night.

My aunt was in the kitchen that night cleaning. I sat on my bed with tears coming down my eyes. I couldn't exactly pinpoint why I was feeling so terrible but I felt hopeless about life and the future of it. With every deep silent wail, my head would pound even harder. I was contemplating on whether I should just cry it out through the night and wake up in the morning to plaster my school face on or should I actually tell my aunt that I felt peace in dying in my sleep. I was so afraid that she would look at me funny or rush me to a mental hospital to get help. Especially my parents. I didn't live with them at that time. I had left my home in North Carolina at 16 to start a new life in the city of Baltimore with my aunt. They were already not happy about my decision but this was all that I needed for them to say that I should've stayed home.

I silently walked to my aunt with tears running down my face.

"I don't know what's wrong with me but I'm not happy," I told her through my tears. "I've been unhappy for a while now."

"How long?" She asked me. She stared at me intently. I didn't know how to tell her this last part.

"I don't know before I moved up here," I said lowly.

She sighed with frustration. I knew she would be upset and that made me hate myself even more.

"You haven't been unhappy Michaela," she said. "You've been depressed for two years and I'm so upset that you kept this to yourself."

After talking with her, I had the confidence to tell my family. And let me tell you, it was not what I expected at all.

They actually listened to me. I was so afraid that they would interrupt and disagree because I was raised in a Christian household and my parents never talked to me about depression but after that phone call, they confided to me that they had struggled with depression and thought that life was easier being dead but God gave them me and also a gift of life to live. They were supportive in my decision for therapy and they did everything they could to remind me that I was loved and not alone.

I learned that not everyone was going to take me seriously or even care (especially family). I had friends who checked on me to be kind and others indirectly wanted to be nosy and brag about their happy life (how subtle). I wanted to be happy and "normal" again so quickly that I tried to rush the process but I knew a quick fix would only lead to a major disappoint that would send me spiraling into a deeper state of depression. Trust me. I tried rushing and it was not pretty. I had to be honest with myself. To everyone. Whether I or anyone else wanted to hear it or not.

Admitting that I was depressed was the best decision of my life. It clarified to me that I don't have control over things in life but I'm blessed by God to have His love and the people that He has placed in my life. Depression isn't easy but I don't have to put my life on hold until everything is perfect again. No, I'm decided that I'm going to live my life the best way I know how to.

So please tell someone. Please don't suffer in silence. You may not get the warming reactions but know that you just took the first step of taking care of yourself. And for that, I'm proud of you and have faith that God will give you all the resources you need. Maybe you don't believe in God but I know that He has a plan for you and everything will work out for you. Don't worry about the laters. Right now, it's you that need to take the first step, love.