"You’re suffering from major depressive disorder," he said.

"You have PTSD," she said.

"You show signs of ADHD," he said.

"You just might have bipolar disorder," he said.

Four different doctors explained to me why I feel, think and act the way I do, yet I’ve always been told I have complete control over my mind, thoughts, and feelings. For a while, I genuinely believed it. I believed I was the reason for my negative thoughts and depression. I try and create these positive thoughts, but the negative ones would always rise back to the surface of my mind. I would genuinely try to get up and be happy; smile all day, manipulate everyone into thinking I was the happiest thing alive while also trying to convince myself. That didn’t work either; I would still be crying in the shower or falling asleep with my face drenched in my tears, drowning in my sadness.

At some point, I sunk so low into depression I barely left my house for 3 months. I wouldn’t open my blinds (light, especially coming from the sun, were my enemies then); I unofficially dropped out of school, receiving all WUs (also known as Fs); and I lost contact with almost all of my friends. It was a legitimate battle with myself every single day. My depression was stemming from PTSD, and my PTSD stemmed from my sexual assault a few months prior. I had received so many mixed messages from those close to me. I wasn’t sure whether I should seek help or stay to myself. I had maybe one or two people telling me I should go see someone for help.

Then there were those people who told me I couldn’t let this affect me; I should move on, put my mind on other things, and keep busy. That proved to be inaccurate. I tried very hard to move on; I tried to remain my busy self and kept busy but it didn’t work, not in the least bit. The denial I put myself through seemed to have made things worse. I didn’t want to show any response because I thought maybe some people would think I was dwelling on it, or causing my own sadness. I can’t emphasize enough how hard I tried to move on. It wasn’t until four months later that I experienced my first depressive episode. I dwelled on how weak I was for not being able to get out of bed or make myself happy.

It wasn’t until I sought professional help that I actually got better. For some time, I was ashamed about having to pay someone to listen to me and needing pills to get me through the day or regulate my moods. I always said I didn’t want to be that person, but as of right now I am that person and I’m growing to be fine with it.

I’ve learned about neurotransmitter imbalances and sometimes we genuinely don’t have control over our emotions or thoughts. Those who told me about being in control over those two things probably didn’t take a moment to think about mental illnesses that can control how we think or feel. They probably didn’t think about those suffering from bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, personality disorders, seasonal affective disorder, or one of the many other mental illnesses out there. People don’t give themselves these disorders either; biological, psychological, or social factors cause people to develop such disorders.

The gist of it all is that we are not always in control of how we feel or think. There’s nothing to be ashamed of if you’re suffering from a disorder and you need to take medications. Battling depression or feeling low doesn’t make you weak. Paying for a therapist is not like paying for a friend to listen to you. There is absolutely nothing "wrong" with you. It’s about knowing you need help and getting it. That is not a shameful moment, the furthest thing from it actually — it’s a proud one.