I was eleven years old when I felt a shift inside of me. I remember sitting inside Mrs. Bury's classroom, and feeling like the life was being drained out of me.

For almost a year, I didn't understand what was happening to me. I lost interest in all of the activities I loved so much in the past, and felt myself becoming more and more distant from my friends. It was like this cloud was hanging over my head, and weights were being draped across my shoulders every minute of everyday, and it wasn't until I began to ask people if they felt this way too that I realized something was wrong with me.

I had lived in denial for almost two years, not wanting to admit that I was depressed at the age of eleven years old. It wasn't until I was thirteen that I finally started to notice a stark difference between me and my fellow peers. At this point I knew what depression was, and it is something I might be dealing with.

I told one of my friends in middle school that I thought I might be suffering from depression, and I remember them looking at me and laughing in my face, I didn't know what TRUE sadness was.

At this point I felt pretty helpless, middle school is that time in which we are all trying to find ourselves and I felt the furthest from anything I wanted to be. At this point my chest began to feel empty, I had let the weight that was on my chest to rip out my heart, my soul.

It was this point in my life that I wanted to feel something, anything at all because feeling numb for months on end started to feel inhuman.

I was thirteen years old when I began to self-harm.

I remember teachers asking me if I was okay, and I always replied, I fell, or, I'm fine it's nothing, and that was all it took to get them to leave me alone. I felt alone, I felt that even if I told them I was hurting myself, that they would not understand, and that they would shun me, or tell my family and I didn't want them to find out, I didn't want my family to be disappointed in the person I had become.

It was this point in my life that I began to feel that this numbness was never going to go away, my mind started to tell me that life was not worth living anymore if this was going to be my forever, and after feeling this way consistently for three years I started to believe it.

I remember trying again and confiding in one of my other 'friends' in middle school, telling him how I had felt for years, and how hopeless I had felt for any sort of change. It was then that he turned to me and told me that if I was going to mope around I might as well go through with it.

I was fourteen when I tried to take my own life for the first time.

Middle school continued on, while I felt like my life had come to a stand still.

Towards the end of middle school I had finally reached out to someone and they took me to the school counselor, where I had promised myself I would clean up my act.

When I walked into the room I could feel my heart beating into my ears, and my hands were shaking uncontrollably. When the counselor asked me why I was there I looked at her and all I could get myself to say out loud was that I was really sad.

She looked at me and pulled out a medical book of some kind and started scrolling through, reading different descriptions to me asking me, does this sound like you?

After her asking me this with three different diagnoses, I told her that I had a test in my next class and that I would be back next week, and before I left she called after me, if you ever want to come back I will have to call your parents.

I never went back to counseling after that, it was at that moment that I told myself I was on my own.

Going into my freshman year of high school, I decided to try to stop self-harming because I wanted something to change, I wanted to prove to myself that I could somehow pull myself out of this hole I was in and make it.

Throughout High School I had started to slowly pick myself back up, reading article after article. trying method after method, and I started to feel a slow change.

I still did not truly open up and tell anyone about the extent of my depression, but I told myself that for now, trying by myself was enough.

Every single day was a struggle for me still, but I had learned to take it one hour at a time, one task at a time.

I started to come alive again throughout my first two years of high school, I had told myself that my depression was 'no longer a problem.'

I had pushed it to the side until I had lost my Grandmother my junior year. Not only did I deal with the large amount of grief that had weighed upon my heart losing a large role model and loved one but my depression reminded me of just how human I was, just how not 'over it' I was.

I had battled another two years of severe sadness, self-doubt, and self-destructive thoughts before I saw the light again.

It wasn't until I had pulled myself up far enough, and gathered my strength that I was ready to begin truly healing myself, and telling others of my story.

When I was 20 I transferred to Ashland University, and it was my first time living alone in a dorm, and feeling strong enough to step out into the world as myself. It was not until this point that I had truly opened up to anyone, and told my story.

I became vocal about mental illness, not only mine, but others as well, and little by little I divulged my story to my peers at school as well as others on social media. I became more and more comfortable telling people my story, not because I wanted the sympathy or pity, but because this is my life; this is part of who I am, and if I tell this story, maybe, just maybe, one person will hear a story of perseverance throughout my struggles and try just one more day, just one more month and begin to feel peace within themselves.

Throughout this journey of being so public about my struggle and my journey I had received so much criticism of people telling me to: shut your mouth, keep THAT to yourself, what happens in your home stays in your home, that's no one business, and you're an attention whore.

All of these words tore through me and made me question my self-worth. Was this really what I was doing? Was me being so public a bad thing?

After months of beating myself up about it, I had discovered that I was not in the wrong here, I was not the one who should feel ashamed or embarrassed. I am living in a world that is terrified to talk about something that is so very common amongst it's people.

People don't want to talk about people like me because it makes them uncomfortable, because we live in a world that tells us that asking for or needing help is a weakness, when in reality it is what connects us as a human race.

450 million people suffer from mental illnesses worldwide, that's not a small number to just ignore. This is something worth talking about, this is something worth working through, together.

I had not become strong enough to share my story for 10 years, it was not until one of my best friends opened up publicly about her eating disorder that I felt the courage to finally share my story, to finally come out and show just how human I really am.

To all of those that suffer daily;

I am telling you this story in hope that it provides you some sort of hope, there are days that are better than others, but it has and will continue to be better for me.

Through my story I remind you;

Be brave, tomorrow is a new day, and the world continues to grow through acceptance everyday.

Do not feel ashamed of who you are, and do not feel afraid to share who you truly are.

Through your continued bravery you will find the light that is at the end of this dark tunnel.