I remember days when I would beg for God just to help me feel “okay” again. I didn’t even pray for happiness those days because it just seemed too far out of my reach. Mere contentment was a dream at this point. One of my most vivid memories is just standing in the shower, crying, wishing I could understand “why.” Why do I feel like this? Why can’t I be better? What is wrong with me? I just wanted to be “healed” from myself.

Waking up was always the hardest. Sleep eases the pain, which makes reality hit with a lightning force in the morning. I have since become a morning person, mind you, which has been one of my biggest feats.. But that was hardly the case for a large majority of my life, especially during my lowest point.

My family jokes that I came out of the womb smiling, because I have always been such a “happy” person. However, during this time, smiling was simply a reflex. A gesture of kindness toward others. A habit. It had little to nothing to do with what I felt on the inside. But because I was smiling, no one knew. Those close enough to me knew I was different, even slightly distant, but people often attribute that to being “busy” or “stressed.” The truth was that I was aching. I was devastatingly lost and couldn’t find my way home.

While I was every bit smart and emotionally aware enough to KNOW what I was going through, the depression just seemed to paralyze me into submission. I unwillingly allowed it to take control of me and drag me further and further toward the bottom.

Depression consumed me like a weighted blanket. It became familiar. I started knowing what to expect. I was hardly surprised when I felt tears welling out of nowhere. The knot in my throat rarely left. I knew I would lay in bed and count the minutes until I felt like it was an acceptable time to sleep. The internal conflict between wanting to do everything and nothing all at the same time was a constant. Depression became my routine. A painful, empty routine.. but a routine, nonetheless. And as we are creatures of habit, I lived it. I fell into a thoughtless cycle. My depression was the shepherd and I was the sheep.

I write about all of this, my hurt and darkness, to let you know that you’re not alone. It may feel as though no one understands. Or that no one has felt as awful as you. Or that no one has been through what you’ve been through. And while that may be completely true, each of us have been through our own battles. Some of which ripped us apart to our very core. We still have the scars to prove it. Although couldn’t be more different, we are also one in the same.

I sit here, reflecting on my darkest time with a heavy heart.. not for myself but for the girl I was back then. I look at her and want to hold her tight, reminding her it will pass. I want to give her all of the advice that it’s taken me years to come by. I want to drag her into the light. But I can’t. And honestly, even if I could, I’m not sure that I would. Because it is through my hardest times that I have come to learn who I am. It is through my hardest times that I have learned how to pick myself up. I have learned how to save myself. It is through those times that I have gained strength and the passion to help others fight their own battles. I can’t pull my old self into the light, but my goal is to help others find their way out of the dark.