I struggle to get out of bed every morning (or afternoon or evening — morning comes at all times of the day for me). I like to sleep. I always have. However, my recent struggle to get up goes far beyond not being a morning person.

I suffer from depression. For me, depression manifests itself in many different forms: anger, sadness, disinterest, nothingness. Regardless of how I react to my depression on any given day, there is always one instance that starts the chain reaction. Getting out of bed.

To me, getting out of bed is a great feat. Getting out of bed means a lot of things that I don't feel like dealing with. Picking out clothes (you could really lose some weight, my depression tells me), looking in the mirror (oh, look at your thin hair, my depression scoffs), going to class (you don't have any friends in here because no one likes you, my depression sneers).

Despite all of this, I've learned to make a joke out of my getting out of bed. If I walk into class with my hair in a messy ponytail and a generally pissed off expression, I can expect my "I slept through two classes" to get a few laughs. Because that's just me. That's what Blake does. She sleeps through everything, and it's funny. My inability to get out of bed has become one of my defining characteristics, a trait that most of the people from this stage of my life would think of fondly.

Cool, so people think I'm funny because I sleep until 3:00 p.m. and can make a joke about it. I'm the girl who sleeps through everything. But the problem is none of that is me. It's my depression.

I've only recently decided to get help. Though I've been dealing with depression for almost three years, I only began treatment about six months ago. I was thrilled when I realized I could blame my self-esteem issues and negative outlook on life on depression, but when I realized I couldn't get out of bed simply because my depression told me my life wasn't worth the effort, I wasn't as excited.

If I'm not the girl who sleeps through everything, who am I? Will anybody like me?

My depression told me no. I'm nothing more than something for others to laugh at, and my difficulty waking up is my shining character trait. I won't be funny or relatable anymore if I can get out of bed. (I blame BuzzFeed's "27 Things You Will Only Understand If You Hate Getting Out of Bed" for that one.)

Even as I write this article, I'm still not entirely convinced I'm ready to drop this protective shield. Right now, no one knows me. People only know me through the lens of my depression and what my depression tells them I am.

Today, I asked myself, "Do I know who I am without my depression?"

I realized the answer is no. But I also realized something else.

JJ Heller's song "No Fight Left" was playing in my car as I drove back to campus. The first line immediately grabbed my attention, and I turned the volume up: "It's hard to tell if my eyes are open / When all I see is dark."

If you've never heard the song, I'll tell you what it means to me. The singer realizes that there's no point in trying to take control over her life or her depression because God is in control. The bridge of the song goes like this:

There's no place I can go
Where You don't already know
How to reach right down and pull me out.

As I drove down a winding country road, these words pulled me out of the darkness I've been living in. I realized that God is in control of my life. God has a plan and a purpose, and all I have to do is give my all to Him.

More importantly, I realized that it shouldn't matter if I'm not the girl who sleeps through everything.

My depression tells me I'm nothing more than something to laugh at.

My God tells me I'm worth more than rubies.

Today I decided that I wouldn't give up. There's no fight left, and my depression isn't going to win.