The first time I encountered Jay Asher’s "13 Reasons Why" was my freshman year of high school. My sister had selected the novel quickly off of a bookshelf at our closest bookstore, and instantly fell into a trance reading it. I, on the other hand, was apprehensive of the dark plot and mature details.

This month, the story came to life as a mini-series. I had forgotten about the novel and the clenched-gut feeling I had subconsciously connected to it. Depression had always been a taboo in my life. People close to me suffered from it, but I ignored the signs I felt within myself for a long time. My sophomore year of college, I was diagnosed. Once the initial shock wore off, I realized how blatant the signs had been.

Like Hannah, I was isolated. I couldn't sleep. I felt empty, felt like nothing at all. I hurt myself, I hated myself. I wanted it all to end, too. I would contemplate and wonder about a different life, or no life, much like Hannah. And for so long, I was afraid to participate in a narrative that openly discussed what depression truly felt like. That is, until "13 Reasons Why" reappeared.

I gave it a try. I knew I had what I had, and I thought, well, let's see how accurately depression or bullying is portrayed. I watched one episode, and then quickly burned through the others. I ended the series sobbing. I connected with Hannah, and Clay, and Alex, and even some of the others within the story.

I knew what Hannah felt, what she thought, even what she said on her tapes. Emptiness, nothingness, wanting to be done. I had thought that, too. I had felt alone before, like a stranger in a sea of people. Feeling isolated from friends, feeling like you had a horrible secret but no one to tell all of it. I had felt like nothing, too, for a very long time. Hearing someone else say what I had said, thought what I had thought, and feel the same emotions as myself pressed me in ways I couldn’t have imagined.

I felt like Clay at times, too. Confused, agitated at the people around me, wanting answers. I had felt like I was wrong, like I wasn’t perfect enough or like I just kept falling apart at the end of the day.

I felt like Alex. Like I wasn’t being heard, like when I cried for help, no one would listen. I’d felt like I had no other options, or like I could never overcome my wrongdoings.

And in finishing the series, I realized how not alone I was in feeling those things. I feel now like I can stand up and love myself for my flaws. I can be imperfect, I can carry my scars, like Skye, like Clay, and Alex, and Hannah, and move forward. I don’t have to end anything. I can keep going.

I know I have support, and love, and hope for myself. I have friends around me who love me for my experiences. So thank you, to the producers, talented actors, writers, crew and of course, Jay Asher, who gave me a second chance. Thank you for helping me see myself differently—for helping me to be a little kinder to myself. Thank you, for not caring that depression, and bullying, and mental health are taboo and quiet, and for talking about them anyway. Thank you for affecting us; thank you for playing the tapes one more time, so this time, we all could listen in.