One of my favorite habits that I've ever picked up is journaling. I used the same journal from sophomore year, right up through my senior year of high school, and I cherish that book with all of my heart.

That journal was the start of my writing career, believe it or not. I have remnants of the old poems and story ideas that my 15-year-old self was so proud of, and I love looking at them and reminiscing on how much I've grown as a creator and person over the past three years.

I got a new journal to start off my college career, but I'm still keeping my old journal by my side. After writing my first entry in my new journal, I decided to look back at some of my old entries to see what I was up to this time a few years ago.

You see, while I chronicled many of my high points in that trusty grey book, it was also my place of solace when I was feeling sad or stressed. If I had a thought that I was upset about, I would write it in there to send it off into the universe and get it out of my head.

I don't think journaling is a foreign concept to a lot of people, and if it is to you, I highly recommend trying it. However, reading the entries of my struggles with anxiety and depression hurt my heart more than you can possibly imagine.

I know they're in there, but looking back on them scares me. I remember writing those and feeling absolutely lost. I felt like there was nothing left for me, and I didn't know how things could possibly get better. The light at the end of the tunnel was nonexistent at that point, and no matter what I did or who I told, nothing got better.

I look back at myself a year ago, and I remember a girl who would go to school and put on the happiest face in the world — and then get in the car at 2:30 and immediately break down into tears. I remember being in class, smiling and laughing with my friends while simultaneously feeling nothing at all.

That's the problem. I wasn't feeling bad. I wasn't feeling anything. I wasn't just sad. I didn't feel anything whatsoever. Everything felt wrong, but I had no idea what to do to make things right. Everything I loved just lost its former appeal.

When I read those entries I'm looking into the eyes of a girl who was struggling just to get out of bed in the morning. I look at someone who wanted to be strong and wanted to get better, but didn't know what to change. Those entries were written by someone crying out for help, someone who didn't understand why no one seemed to hear her.

This isn't me putting anyone I tried to talk to during this time on blast. This is me calling out to anyone who doesn't know what to do next. This is me telling you to hold on.

The past year has been a long, painful and amazing journey in faith and self-discovery. It has been a year of building strong relationships and letting go of old ones. It has been a year of me working toward being a better me.

And your journey is going to be the same.

I'm not telling you it's going to be easy. I'm telling you it's going to be worth it, and that I'm rooting for you — even when it seems like the rest of the world isn't.