For some, this may come as a surprise, but for others, this is nothing new.

By my coming out with this information, I expect backlash. I expect questions, disbelief, and even refusal of my own mental health. However, this is not for you. This is not going to be something that you will turn into something about you. This is me finally taking a hold of the spotlight and educating everyone on my mental health, and how it has affected my life.

I have depression and anxiety.

Now, because I know this will flow through some of your minds, I will answer the effervescent questions. Yes, I know I have it. No, I am not clinically diagnosed. Yes, I know that there are places I can go for help. And finally, no, I am not doing this for attention. Honestly, anyone who fakes a mental illness for attention is disgusting in my eyes. How dare you pretend to have depression, anxiety, paranoia, or any other mental illness just so the focus will be on you.

Coming from someone who has witnessed this firsthand, it's not easy to be around those kinds of people when they try to relate to you, but they can't because they have no idea what they are talking about. Mental illness differs from every single person, so no two experiences are the same. My anxiety attacks and bouts of depression will not be identical to yours, and neither will our origins of mental illness.

When I was a lot younger, my parents thought I had depression because of their divorce. At the time of their divorce, I was seven years old. They didn't start seeing signs until I was nine years old, a whole two years later. At that point, I was very on edge and would cry out of nowhere.

That was when I was first sent to the school counselor. I met with her every week until the end of the school year, to which my parents and myself saw improvement. We agreed that I would no longer continue to see the counselor, and if it got worse, I would be sent to a therapist. After a few years and a drastic move, I fell into the same emotional headspace. I soon began sessions with a therapist, who I continued to go to every other week for a few months. After running out of things to talk about and seeing improvement, I once again left. This time, it would be longer before I sought help again.

I've written about this a few times already, but for those who are unaware, my mom passed away in January of 2014, a few months into my freshman year of high school. Already being known as the new kid in school and having very few friends, losing my best friend was the absolute worst. During this time, I fell into my deepest depression to date. I had no idea what I was going to do or how I was going to move forward. My life sat at a standstill. Soon after, my sister and I joined a bereavement group at our local church orchestrated by the youth group, where we would go to talk about how we felt. It was alright, but I never felt like I had a place there. I decided it was my time to leave, and that it didn't help to talk to others. AT the time, although I was talking to people who experienced the same things, I felt that they didn't understand. From that point forward, I decided to bottle everything up and not tell anyone what was going on.

After finishing high school and moving into college, I found others who had similar mental illnesses. We would be courteous of each other, and I never felt out of place. It was also at this point that my anxiety began to come to the surface, adding to the already present depression. At one point in October 2017, I fell into another deep depression, but not as bad as the other. It was at this time that I reached out to the counseling and psychological services, or CAPS, on my campus. Through there, I was able to let my feelings out and tell them what was truly on my mind without them telling my dad anything. It was freeing to speak with them about how I hadn't felt right in years, to which they helped me find my mojo again. They helped me become me again.

I didn't stay there very long, but the things that I take away from it are apparent in my everyday life. Now, I'm not afraid of others knowing about my mental health status. I am willing to educate others on what is happening in my brain, and how to handle situations if they are around. I am not afraid of people seeing the unfiltered version of me, even if it isn't the prettiest.

I think it's time we end the stigma surrounding mental health, and it starts with being vocal about your mental health status. Do not be afraid of letting others know what is happening, and do NOT be afraid of people seeing the real you.