Throughout my life I was the energetic kid who loved talking to everyone: my mom still reminisces about how I literally took candy from a stranger when I was five. My friends would always dare me to do stupid things with them like try and escape being simultaneously taped, tied, and handcuffed to a tree, and I loved it. I laughed with them, I fought with them, I cried with them, I did everything with them. This was all about to change.

It all began back in middle school, about when I was 13. I noticed that I was not enjoying all my usual activities; when I would hang out with my friends I would seclude myself for seemingly no reason. When I noticed myself pushing myself away, I would rejoin them in whatever activity we were doing only to seclude myself again without realizing. This *precipitous* change from my prior self, was an atomic bomb on my life, destroying everything I had come to know and love about myself. “I hate this.” “I hate this.” “I hate this.” This was the constant thought running through my mind day and night, rain or shine, both conscious and unconscious. This was easily the most difficult thing I ever went through. I didn’t know what was happening. My mind and self were changing. I was terrified to talk about it, so I ignored as it were simply a fly who kept buzzing by my ear. I was constantly trying to reason with it. I always thought that if I were upset or sad, there had to be a reason. I couldn’t simply be sad; there had to be a reason, and without a reason I was just a crybaby. This is the thought that ran through my head, and it still does today.

One day I finally worked up the courage to tell my mom about what was going on. It was difficult. Man was it difficult. It shouldn’t be hard to discuss your feelings, especially with your parents, but whenever I thought about what to say or saying it at all I was like a deer in the headlights, frozen. After I told her, she took me to a mental health doctor. There I was asked a series of questions, and after waiting a bit and having my mom called in I was diagnosed with depression. This was not a shock to me. In fact, in a way I was relieved. I thought it may have been bipolar depression or something similar, so having it only be depression was a good thing. From there I took medication and sought therapy. I hated both of them. The therapy although attempting to help deal with my depression, only made it worse. I felt dehumanized, like there was something wrong with me to the point where I was helpless by myself. To me, the gaze of the psychiatrist felt like he was looking at an abomination. I was out of place, like the moon during the day. Whenever I would go there my feeling of depression would only intensify, talking about what was bothering me would only cause me to be sadder or angrier. Because of this I stopped both medication and therapy and decided to simply tough it out. I didn’t want to talk about it, I didn’t want to be one of the people who constantly talks about their depression. To me if I talked about it, I felt like one of the people who fake having mental illness or exaggerate it in order to be more popular or gain pity from those around them. I didn’t want pity. I just wanted to be normal. I realize that for some, this is the completely wrong way of handling it. Many people say finding a psychiatrist is easy, but finding the right one is harder. At the time of my diagnosis I did not realize this. For many therapy and medication would have the opposite effect it had on me. If I would have been diagnosed now, I would have most likely understood this and sought out therapy from someone else.

One day I decided to tell my best friend about my diagnosis. He reacted the exact way most people would hate, but it was the exact way I needed. He responded with one word: “and?” This response was what saved me. He didn’t treat me like I was a special case, like I was a child who wandered too far from his mother; he treated me like I was a person. Because of this I was able to open my eyes wider. I realized who I wanted to be and that even with this setback I could still become that person, the person who could be successful, the person who could help others be successful, the person who could be a beneficiary to all of society. I began looking at all the positives in my life, I grew up in a good area, I had an accepting family, and I had amazing friends. I realized I didn’t have to be different, I realized I didn’t have to be the special case, I realized that my depression wouldn’t be my defining feature. Before this I was allowing myself to suffer, and it showed. The old twinkle in my eye had gone dark, but this revelation had returned it in an even brighter way.

However, despite how helpful this may have been, my life was still going up in flames all around me. The “me” I used to be did not reappear, in fact in some ways that comment forever buried him. My prior ability to converse with anybody and everybody, completely shattered. I became very introverted and awkward. Whether I had known the person for 10 years or 10 seconds I was still awkward with them. This is something I still struggle with and work to better myself at everyday. I force myself to speak with others, I do not allow myself to sit idly by and do nothing. If I see someone alone, I try to talk with them. Whenever I see them alone, I get reminded of how bad I felt when I was alone. Remembering that, I want to do all that I can to make sure that they don’t feel the way I did. Sometimes both of us have weak conversation skills so it can lead to some awkward silence, but that’s okay, as long as I am able to have a halfway decent conversation I couldn't care less how awkward it is.

Despite all the *hindrances* depression has caused me, I still like to look at it as a positive influence on my life. It taught me how to overcome barriers, whether they seem impossible or not. It motivates me to be my best everyday, because when I am being productive it makes everything seem better. If I am laying around doing nothing, I begin to think, and the more I think the darker the thoughts get, eventually to the point where I want to break down. But when I am working on schoolwork, chores, or simply doing exercise I don’t have time to let the dark thoughts get in. As long as I put my mind or body to work, the depression cannot enter into my life. Had I not had this experience, I may have been a better speaker, a more open person, and definitely more popular. But had I not had this experience, I would’ve never discovered my true interests, I would’ve never learned the valuable skills of self-motivation and problem solving, and I definitely would not have learned who my true friends were. I do not seek pity for my depression. I still do not like discussing it for this reason. I only seek to be treated like everyone else.