It was 7th grade.  I had sat through all my morning classes.  I was standing in line at lunch.  I asked for the usual, a slice of pizza, a carton of milk, and an apple.  I got my tray and saw my friends sitting at our usual table.  They waved at me to come sit, but I said I had to go make up a test.  I had no test to make up.  I walked, as I usually did, to the top of the staircase above the science room.  There were two doors on either side that led to the roof and a little space where I could sit and be alone.  I opened my computer, put on my usual playlist, and just cried.  I tried to eat, but I couldn’t let myself.  I was already fat enough, right? I was already hopeless enough.  I knew I wasn’t pretty and that boys didn’t like me.  So, like I usually did, I sat up there and cried and listened to music and was alone.  And that was how I liked it.  More like, that’s how I was comfortable, but then again, I forgot the difference.  Forty-five minutes later I heard the bell ring and I slid away to class.  The day passed numbly.  I sat in class and felt self-conscious and generally anxious.  Then I got on the bus, sat and listened to the boys that rode the bus home laugh at me and call me porky, call me ugly and stupid, and laugh with each other while I sat and cried silently.  Then I got off the bus and saw my brother at our neighbors getting high and playing video games, so I walked to my empty home and got a snack and then went and cried myself to sleep.  At about six o’clock, my mom walked in and made dinner and asked where my brother was.  I said he was in our room that we shared.  Of course he wasn’t.  He’d text me soon and tell me to cover him so he could go to sleep without mom noticing he came home.  Then I ate dinner, washed the dishes, and went back to sleep.  The next morning, I went to school and repeated my usual day.  I did this every day for about two years.  Then, when I was a freshman in high school I discovered self harm.  I told myself it helped.  To see a physical mark of the pain I felt in my head and my heart - which at this point was barely beating.  I cut myself at least once a week.  No one noticed for 4 months.  Then, some time in October, I went to the hospital.  My mom had found out and seen a picture of my arm. By the end of the year, I’d been to the hospital three separate times. I had been diagnosed with Clinical Double Depression.  They told me I would get better.  I did what they said knowing that I would not be getting better any time soon. That summer, I went to camp and was mostly okay.  Then school came.  I had hurt myself two weeks before school started.  My case worker, Barbara made a surprise visit after school on the second day of my sophomore year. She saw my arm and sent me to the hospital again.  I was there until October 27th.  Then, from October 27th on, I stayed home or went to work with mom almost every day.  On November 14th I came to a new school.  A boarding school.  I thought if I got away from home, maybe I’d get better.  Eventually I did, and here I am today writing from that school about the journey I’ve been on.  Of course I’ve had some slip ups and week or two longs bouts of just being depressed in general, but the end of this month will be my official one year since last hurting myself. 

Depression is not something to ignore or put aside.  Feeling sad sometimes is normal.  Healthy, even.  But if you’re waking up every day feeling hopeless, or feeling a lack in excitement of things that you used to love, or crying for no reason, or hurting yourself, or thinking about suicide, it’s something that needs to be explored.  It’s scary to think about asking for help.  What if people find out? What if they think you’re a freak? Or dangerous? It’ll pass eventually.  I don’t want to change, I’m comfortable this way.  I don’t want to hurt my parents or my friends.  These are some of the reasons people with depression might not seek out help.  There is no good reason to not get help.  Everyone deserves to be happy and live a good life. 

About one out of 12 teens will experience clinical depression before they are 18. After the age of 15, females are twice as likely as males to suffer from depression.  There are some signs you can look for that people who are depressed may show such as change in appetite, significant weight change, change in sleep patterns, loss of interest in usual activities, loss of energy/tiredness, hopelessness/boredom, unexplained crying, irritability, and/or thoughts of death and suicide.  There are also some risk factors when it comes to depression (keep in mind, someone who has experienced any of these signs and/or events may not become depressed): a parent or other close biological relative with a mood disorder, a major life change or a prolonged stressful situation, being the victim of or witnessing a violent crime, a previous bout of depression, or a sense of hopelessness.  

Many people with depression take different medications.  There are mood stabilizers, sometimes focus medication, and very commonly antidepressants. Your brain has certain chemicals in it that control how impulses and signals are sent from one nerve cell to the other.  With depressed people, the brain either has too much or too little of this chemical causing mood disorders and/or depression and/or a whole bunch of other possible issues.  Medication can help fix the regulation of the chemicals in your brain.