Depressionhas become a widely aknowledged, and almost comfortable description of emotionally negative symptoms. For some, these symptoms come in mild waves. For others, they are a constant tsunami. There is a fine line between emotion and depression, however. People seem to think any glimpse of sadness or destructive behavior has to do with depression. In all reality everyone encounters those emotions and irrational thoughts. The difference is that not everyone is able to escape them.

From a young age I struggled with my self image. Don't we all? Mine was particularly a constant embarrassment of my face and it's existance. Every time I looked in the mirror I got a physical tightness in my chest. "This is me." I would clench my fists. "Why is this my body?" Some days the anger at my own appearance would get so severe that I would try to forcefully squish and position my face into a new one. It wasn't successful, but I had grown so angry and tired of myself that it seemed necisary to try. Eventually I started to hate other aspects of my body in the same mannor. My feet were too wide, my bones were too big, my knees were so weird, and my body was so disgusting.

The anger and hatred toward my appearance escalated until I hated my personality. I hated my very existance. I didn't want to kill myself, but I thought of how large of a relief it would be if I died by accident. Part of me didn't want to die at all, but at the same time I was never really alive. I didn't see the point in continuing on as this sad ghost of a person I had become. I didn't see very much at all actually. I was obsessed with everything that was wrong. I almost never saw the beauty in anything. The whole world seemed to be this black hole of sorrow and anger. There was nothing I could do.

Throughout my adolescence I was bullied. My first boyfriend was dared to go out with me and then broke up with me in front of a whole class as a joke. I was reminded daily that I was ugly. My favorite times were when I was called 'stupid' or 'annoying'. "Oh, thanks. For a second I had forgotten." Unfortunately this drove me to the very edge several times. There was a time when I swallowed twenty pills. I had done some research on them so that I wouldn't take enough to kill me, but enough that it would concern people so they'd keep me home from school. I could be my empty self in solitude that way. I thought all of those awful things about myself, but I didn't like hearing it.

On top of everything else, I had no motivation. I struggled in school. I loved learning, but I refused to do homework. I refused to try. I didn't see a purpose in any of that. I was already worthless anyways, right? That's what everyone else thought, and that's what had been engraved into my developing brain. I was nothing and I would never be anything. I was comfortable with it though. The was the worst part I think. Was that no matter how absolutely hateful and sad I had become, it felt okay. It felt so natural and normal. I was safe. I had seen counselors and therapists, but I didn't want to change. This was the only piece of me I had. Without this extinential dread, I wouldn't have anything. What was I without my depression? Just me? "This is is me."

I discovered self harm shortly after my freshman year. I didn't see it as a cry for help. I saw it as a further display of who I was. "I hate myself too, you see." The pain was almost soothing. I could still feel. I didn't like it, but it felt so constructive. I never saw it as just cutting myself. I saw it as being myself. Feeling myself. Falling deeper into myself. It's so hard to realize that depression isn't yourself. I cannot stress that enough. Depression isn't just being sad and not wanting to do things. Depression is hating every fiber of your being every second of the day and thinking with all of your heart and soul that your depression is you. You truly believe that there is nothing beyond this dreary existance full of terrible feelings. It becomes so comfortable. So easy. It's torture, but it's all you know. "It's just who I am."

It wasn't until my senior year of highschool that I decided I wanted to change. It's not that I had suddenly decided that I was tired of living how I had become accustomed to. It was the sudden progression and new symptoms that had started to scare me. I began having hallucinations of awful things happening to me and those around me all the time. I couldn't tell what was real anymore. I wasn't living in the world, I was living in my head and I was finally ready to wake up.

I went to see a physician and received a prescription for my disorder. Over time I started to get better. Within a week the hallucinations had stopped. Within two weeks my head began to clear. Within a month I had discovered that there was so much more to me than ugly flesh. I promise, there is so much more to you than ugly flesh. "Depression isn't who I am."

I started achieving things. I started liking myself more. I got a real boyfriend. One who didn't hurt me or rape me or cheat on me. Why? I realized I was allowed to have standards. "I'm worth something." You're actually worth something.

I'm in college, doing what I love. Can you believe it? I'm self sufficient. I'm in love. I am happy. I can't even begin to wrap my mind around it. I am so much more than I ever dreampt I could be. Everything is so beautiful. I'm off my medication. I don't need it anymore. I'm okay. I don't hate myself. "I don't hate myself."

"I am not my depression."

"Life really does get better. It sounds so cleché. It sounded like a generalized lie when I was younger. Sometimes it still does. It's not a lie though. It's simply incredible what a simple choice can do, or how much a tiny bit of joy can help you. I cannot stress it enough. I will never stop saying it.

You're depression isn't you. You're allowed to have standards. You're more than just an existance of ugly flesh. You are so much more than depression. I promise.