When I was diagnosed with depression, I was blind to the world of mental health. I did not know how this would affect my life and my relationships. As a typical 13-year-old girl, I was more worried about pimples, boys, and periods than something called depression.

The moment the doctor said that I had depression, I felt as if my whole world had stopped turning. My heart sunk. There was a lump in my throat. Was I crazy? Did I have to be sent to a mental hospital? If I wasn’t the weird girl in school already this would only make it worse.

The doctor explained in his kind voice that depression is normal and that I should not be scared of it. He said that millions of people have depression and assured me that with the right medication and dosage that I too would be able to live with my depression.

He said that I was going to be okay. And I believed him.

My mom began to ask the doctor question after question and the doctor answered. She asked about the side-effects. How would this effect my schooling? My physical health? She was attentive and listened to every word. Then they began discussing my options for medication. My doctor prescribed Zoloft to me and said that if I had any side-effects or reaction that I was to come back. He sent my mom and I on our merry way.

The drive to the pharmacy was quiet, just like the ride to the hospital. My mom asked me if I wanted to grab something to eat before we picked up the medication. I said no and she said nothing more.

The trip of the pharmacy was uneventful. We picked up the prescription, spoke with the pharmacist, and drove home. We had dinner with everyone and I went to my room to do homework.

It was as if nothing had happened. However, there was this grey cloud lingering over my head. I went to bed early that night and dreamed in black and white.

The next morning, I showered and dressed for school. My mom left a note for me on the kitchen table. She wrote, I cut your medicine in half. Drink plenty of water. See you when I get home. Love you bunches! I grabbed the pill bottle and read in bold letters: Take one everyday with water. I swallowed the pill down with a drink of water and left the house to catch the bus.

I have little memory of school that day. It was a big blur, really. I do remember coming home from school in a terrible mood though. I sat near the front of the bus with my earbuds in and my music playing. I had no idea why I was so angry. I was near the point of snapping at anyone. When the bus dropped me off, I went straight home and I was met with my mom’s smiling face. She asked me how was my day and I broke.

Like the trigger of a gun, I exploded. I started to scream and yell at my mom. I was angry. I was hurt. I was sad. I was upset. I was all these emotions rolled tightly into a little ball and they were all coming out in waves. I was stretched thin and ready to burst. I screamed for a good while until I could not cry anymore and I was out of breath. I stomped to my room, slammed the door, and sobbed into my pillow.

I cried into my pillow for a long time before my mom finally opened the door and walked into my room. She sat on the bottom bunk of my bed and waited till I turned my face to her. I apologizes to her in my hoarse voice and began crying again. She stood, wrapped her arms around me, and kissed my hair.

She then told me that she was not going to allow me to take that medicine again. I agreed with her. This wasn’t the medicine for me but I was hopeful that something else would help.

I never got the chance to go back to the doctor and request a new prescription. I never went back to the doctor. I never explained to him that I was not myself after taking the medicine.

Over the next five years, my depression was left untreated and my life was rollercoaster.