At the age of 14, I was diagnosed at a troubled youth facility with depression and anxiety. I discussed my trauma in group therapy, met with a counselor to discuss how I can be a better person, and even apologized to the man who had caused me to be there. In the end, none of these things helped my state of mind.

At the age of 15, I came out as gay to my family to bridge honesty and inspire compassion. The abuse only continued. The next year I would be forced to live outside the country, hide my queerness, and made to confess my sexuality in front of Christian peers.

At 16, a few weeks after my birthday, I felt hopeless. I wrote a farewell letter to my counselor, bought over-the-counter medication, and took the pills to my high school.

I ended up in the hospital, got a new diagnosis, this time it was for major depression and anxiety. I lacked the assistance I needed then as well. The problem wasn't that I was naturally sad or nervous all the time. The issue was that I needed to leave an abusive household and instead, they sent me back to the home I had tried to escape from. If the psychologists, therapists, and social workers had listened to the concerns of my youth, I promise you I would not have returned five years later from another failed attempt. The CDC reports that suicide is an epidemic nationwide and it isn't just affecting the United States. The world is also in mourning.

When I was 17, I was forced to leave the city I grew up in again. I spent a year in a different state with my abusive father. I legally could not leave.

Youth are already struggling to understand who they are and find their place in this world. Normalizing abuse isn't helping anyone instead it's making it harder for these problems to be addressed. I was forced to return to the same environment that had harmed my existence. I was at fault for being a survivor and the perpetrators were not.

On my 18th birthday, I left with a newfound freedom and happiness that I had never felt before. I owned nothing and yet my heartfelt rich. I thought to myself, "At last, I'm finally cured of depression and anxiety."

A few days after my 21st birthday, I experienced my worst episode. I was upset because I still felt sad most of the time and everything made me anxious. I realized there is not a cure, but rather treatment for these symptoms I had survived all my life.

I now take medication and regularly go to therapy to treat my mental health. In a country where my existence is constantly a conversation in debates, it makes me wonder how I'm supposed to heal and recover in an unjust society. I've contemplated the privileges and access I have that make the world more tolerable. I don't have many. I'm a first-generation brown college student. I'll never know the comfort or stability of my white peers who have support systems in their lives.

The focus I want to address is the stigma and oppression involving mental health. Symptoms will look different individually and people's experiences are going to be distinct. These symptoms may include uncontrollable crying, outbursts of frustration, disassociation, isolation, chronic fatigue, and more that are not listed.

My trauma is complex because it comes from a place of having to battle being brown and queer all the time. My adolescence was complicated because I was oppressed both inside and outside my own home. I would deal with the discrimination I faced in school for being Xicanx and returned to my family's house where conversion therapy attempts were made.

Despite all my efforts, what was there left to do? Stay strong? I don't think it was ever that simple. I ended up drained, I had no more energy left in me to give out anymore. Dealing with oppression had taken a lot already. I was told to stay strong.

I was never allowed to ever leave any unsafe environments. I was encouraged to stay. I didn't need to be brave during those dark times, what I needed was to leave them.

I need a radically changed society. Not to be told that I just need to change my attitude or normalize these difficult situations. I need people to hear me out when I say, "You should care, even if it doesn't affect you directly."

In Dom Chatterjee's article, Mental Health Is Different For People of Color In These Three Ways And More, they write that "Trauma is tied to systemic oppression such as racism, leaving it in the past can be and often is impossible." When I think of mental health survivors, the conversation becomes more complex when we discuss discrimination in our day-to-day lives. Having to combat transphobia, homophobia, and racism every day is exhausting. If people call themselves allies but don't combat these issues they claim they are fighting for, the allyship is fraudulent. Most importantly, the allyship is built on appearance and it's evident these so-called-allies do not care.

We need to start redirecting the way we talk about mental health. Recovery does not look a single way. Mental health is complex. The stigma needs to end. Help and healing needs to become more accessible. Receiving therapy, peer support, and genuine understanding from loved ones should not be an unattainable process. We need to talk about how mental health directly affects people of color, LGBTQ folx, women, and children. Oppression causes systemic trauma.

I am resilient but I will not be complacent with the abuse of this country's government. We need to challenge stigma and have active conversations where mental health can be understood. Judgment needs to end and acceptance needs to be prevalent for survivors.

It took me a long time to talk about my episodes with chosen family. One of the main reasons why is because I felt massive shame about my mental health. I know I have friends and some family that love me, but when I was in this dark place there was no way out. It wasn't until I was able to talk about my state-of-mind that I could finally regain hope.

Media is a huge influence on social change. Activism and community justice are parallel to what we view in our homes and public spaces. Before Donald Trump's presidency, there where shows like Glee and The L Word. Although these shows were praised in their times for providing queer storylines, I felt alone in a sense because these characters were mostly white. Even when I was invested in TV programs featuring queer characters, the characters would die or simply never return.

Now there are shows like POSE, who feature mainly queer brown and black characters and storylines. The show currently has 2 seasons and has received great reviews and critical acclaim for the series.

My only question is, why did it take until recently for the media to portray storylines like those in POSE? Perhaps the answer seems to lie in this era as well. The president of this nation is a tyrant endorsed by white supremacist groups, indigenous land rights are still being fought for, and children are being held in detention centers.

Although these current times are harsh, there is still hope despite the difficulty. Tomorrow is a new day. I encourage anyone reading this right now to start by having these hard conversations. We can start learning from one another and inspire change within ourselves. We can talk about the stigma and oppression in efforts to improve the barriers from understanding mental health. In these radical changes, we can build a kinder Earth. We can build a brighter world by listening to one another and we can attain a better future by sharing the stories that build our identity.

I survived because I had a support system. Ultimately, we need to expand on bringing communities closer rather than apart. The basis of what was needed then and now is unconditional love. This love comes from chosen family, friends, and many ancestors. This love comes from one another.

A support system can only be built by building bridges and taking down walls. The past few years have been some of the toughest this nation has seen. Despite all the hardships, I can assure you there are moments of joy. Puerto Rico is recovering despite Hurricane Maria, the U.S. National Parks has ongoing plans of protection, and 100 million trees have been planted.

All is not lost. I ask the audience that if you are watching the news and want to do something, the first step is to take action. Talk to people in your local community, go to the next protest, and when you see someone who needs help, be present at that moment. It can be the most important way to create ripple effects in a movement. Most importantly, you're not alone. I know that it can be challenging to ask for help, but these ripples become waves. When we admit that we cannot tackle this world alone, we can start to create positive transformations.

We cannot change unless we are willing to undergo the process of movement. It is possible to stay still, but the world will likely continue. I know that stigma and oppression in mental health will not change overnight. However, I know that in time even a reader can open their mind to the endless possibilities that surround modern life.

Maybe, one day I'll look back and feel relieved I published this article. Perhaps then, much of what we know now will have changed. Isn't that the beauty of it all? Despite our differences, we can still be connected. In the words of a good friend, "May your dreams be alive and vibrations be high." My friends, I envision the day that we will have progressed radically in mental health. Until then, all we have is each other.