Recently, one of my very close friends published an article where she told her story and struggle with mental illness. Because of her bravery, I was inspired to share my own personal story.

For as long as I can remember, I have always been classified as "shy" or "quiet". This is not a bad thing, it just has always been tied with the mentioning of my name among casual conversations throughout my life. Even when I was little, my family thought that there was something wrong with me because I was always so silent. Through years of public schooling, I have always had the same comment on every single one of my end of the year reports. Without fail, each of my teachers would tell either me or my parents that I was "too quiet" and needed to "participate more". Throughout elementary school I was constantly getting the never ending rhetoric of "wow she can talk!!!" every time that I would open my mouth to speak.

I have always enjoyed observing other people instead of engaging. I was perfectly fine with being on my own, getting lost in my own thoughts. Somewhere along the line, however, my thoughts became deleterious. It was as if one day I just woke up and instead of being happy with my sense of self, I felt as though I was trapped inside my own mind. At that point, I was so used to keeping quiet and not voicing my opinion that I felt that it was necessary to continue that routine. I kept my thoughts and feelings to myself, bottling them up inside of me. This caused the onset of the toxic routine that continued on for years.

I can't exactly pinpoint the moment in which I first realized that I had a mental illness, because it was such a strange concept to me at the time. Ever since I was as young as five years old, I can remember that I would hit or kick myself any time that I would get upset. At the time, it just seemed as though I was having a tantrum. When I was in public, I refused to go to the bathroom without either my sister or my mom with me. I would not order food at restaurants, insisting that my mom do so for me. I would adamantly refuse to speak on the phone with anyone, no matter who they were, even if they were my own family. All of these things should have been red-flags, but I always attributed it to being a part of introversion.

Middle school was when the depression started hitting me full force. I can remember very vividly the many nights that I spent laying awake, plagued by thoughts of ending my life once and for all. No words will ever be capable of describing how that felt, to be left completely alone in the darkness of night without anyone to confide in. It was at that point that I resorted to cutting. I felt as though since I was unable to express my feelings through words, that replacing the seemingly "invisible" pain with something more concrete would solve all of my problems.

Only recently was I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder, social anxiety disorder, and panic disorder. This was somewhat of a relief, to finally have a name to put with what I was experiencing. I am aware of the many stereotypes that are associated with these disorders, but I can assure you that mental illnesses are not what is depicted in the media.

The purpose of this article is to state this: I am not better yet. That is frightening to admit, but it is true. I am still in the process. I have been put on different medications, trying to find one that works. And this is not something to be ashamed about. Everyone is different. Each brain is different. The whole reason that mental illnesses occur is because of balance of certain neurotransmitters are off. We just need to find the right balance. It's okay, it takes time. Recovery takes time. I still have bad days, I still have days where I don't want to wake up. I still get anxious. Even the other day, as a senior in high school, my teacher asked me to call one of my other teachers in the school and I practically burst into tears at the thought of it. I am still struggling. I am still recovering. But the point is: I am getting there. I am getting through it. Every day is another day that I am still here, I'm still breathing, I am still living.

For the longest time, I felt as though I couldn't share my story because my struggle was notenough. I kept thinking that because I had not reached that point of physically attempting suicide, that I did not have it hard enough. What I have realized, is that this is not true. Struggling is subjective. It is not a competition. I personally never reached that point because of my mom. The reason that I kept living, was because my mom has always been my biggest inspiration, and I could never stand the thought of hurting her in that way. I kept living, because I had to. I kept living, because even though the thoughts inside my head were telling me that I was worthless and deserved to die, and even though I couldn't talk about it, I knew that I had to keep going. And for me, this was enough. This is what kept me alive, the reason that I am sitting here today.

My message to everyone who is struggling, who feels as though they can't talk about it, is this: I see you. I understand. You are worthy. Your struggle is just as important as anyone else's, no matter what you are told. So if you are reading this, and have not told anyone how you are feeling, go and tell someone. Talk it out. I suffered in silence for way too long, and I wished that someone would have told me this a long time ago. Recently, my friend Sadie told me that I am still beautiful even though I am still struggling. And I would like to pass that message on. You are not what your thoughts tell you. You are not worthless. You have meaning. You have potential. The world is better because you are in it. You do not have to suffer in silence just because you have not reached a certain point in your suffering. You do not have to feel as though you cannot be upset because others have it worse than you do. Saying that, is like saying that you are not allowed to be happy because there are others that have it better than you.

If you ever need anyone to talk to, confide in a close friend, family member, or teacher. If those seem to be too uncomfortable, I suggest turning to a wonderful organization, To Write Love On Her Arms. This page on their website lists local hotlines for your area. Just remember, your struggle is valid, you do not need to suffer in silence any longer.

Thank you so much to Sadie Penn for inspiring me to be capable of sharing my story, and for being there for me while I am in the process of recovery. If you missed out on her article where she shared her story, check it out here: https://www.theodysseyonline.com/ikeptliving