I Have Depression.

Today, I couldn't get out of bed.

The simplest thought of laboriously pulling my body's weight out of bed and into the shower can often seem like the most difficult part of my day. The initial ponder of what my day has to offer, that deserves my mental and physical capacity to make myself somewhat presentable. The deliberation of whether to explain to people that the reason I haven't made much of an effort with my hair, or the way I've done my makeup, or the ensemble I've manufactured together is simply because, I am too depressed.

Throughout my life, I have made it my goal to avoid the prospect that I have depression.

"I'm just really tired."

"It's just my hormones."

"Oh you know, just one of them days."

But it came to a point in my life last summer, when it felt like the weight of the world collapsed onto me and I could no longer breath. I had just finished my first year of university, and for the first time in a long time, I felt as if my purpose on this earth didn't exist. I cried to my mum in the car and told her my perceived lack of purpose didn't give me much of a reason to be here anymore. And in the strong, ballsy way my mum does, she stated, "I think you need to see a doctor, Amy." Within the week, I had been prescribed anti-depressants to take once a day, on the lowest dosage. Something I had been attempting to avoid for such a long time, had finally come to make it's mark on me.

Like some sort of annual plague, my depression decided to force it's impact on me again this Summer. More so than it had ever done before. There have been days where I haven't moved from my bed, where the mere thought of feeding or washing myself seems like the biggest task in existence. I have avoided people, thinking that to see them would be pointless as I wouldn't have anything to say. Even though new, positive relationships have blossomed and helped me through the darkest days of my life, I still often find myself wondering, "Why do they like me? What about me is there to like?" I have now learned that this is the toxic side of my brain, from years of trauma, bullying and self destruction, something which I am still attempting to pack away in a suitcase, to never be heard.

It once again got to a point where my existence on this earth to me meant nothing, and I was at my closest to ending things. The emotional and physical pain I was going through was becoming too much for my soul to contend with. I never thought that three months down the line, that I would be on the seldom, positive road to recovery.

For those of you who are my friends, and see me for a particular amount of hours a day, and nothing more; this may come as a bit of a surprise. Even though I have this grey cloud often looming over me, I often try and paint my own rays of sunshine over it. I try and come across as a well put together, organised individual, who has their life in order and in place. However, when I'm on my own, or with the people I hold dearest to my hearts: my housemates, Nicole, Emily and my family, they will know that this isn't always the reality.

I'm disorganized. My room is a constant mess, I leave dishes and rubbish lying about with intention of going back to clear them later, which often ends up being the following day. Whether I can put this down to my depression is one I have deliberated over although, as I think that by my dad calling me the "whirlwind", has often made me think otherwise. I know that sometimes if I push myself, I can wash up, I can tidy, I can put away. But at other times, the idea overwhelms my depressed mind.

I'm an emotional wreck. I can go weeks without crying, and then all of a sudden, it's like a chandelier has fallen from the ceiling onto my body and has crushed me, and somehow, everything seems too much to handle. The simplest tasks, the ones that we have been programmed to think as being normal can be too much to cope with: showering, drinking water, getting changed.

I care way too much about what people think. I am a people-pleaser. If someone isn't happy and it is down to something I could have done better, it kills me. I cry and feel like they're going to hate me, when in reality, they probably haven't even realised it has anything to do with me. I know now from doing a psychology degree that this can be seen as anxiety as well, and that the two can often be combined into one hurricane of a mental incapability.

There have been times when I have thought, what's the point? What's the point in struggling, in perservering when nothing I'm doing is giving me joy anymore? Why should I wake up every morning with the same thought in my head of, I don't want to do this anymore, when there is a much simpler solution to everything.

It may be the simplest solution, but it isn't the right.

This feeling for me is always temporary, other times I tend to just get on with my life, and find that happiness and joy can still be found. It's usually in the small things, like waking up to the sound of the breeze blowing through my window, or the acknowledgment of the pace I can allow myself to go at. More recently, it's the outfits I plan to wear, as I know that makes me feel 100% better in myself and can often make the day worth while, until I find other things throughout my day that also make them worthwhile.

Watching my older sister prepare for her travels and the journey she is paving ahead of herself. Watching my younger brother grow from a boy into mature adult. Seeing my parents content in one another's company, with the knowledge that I myself, have all of that to look forward to.

Witnessing my best friends making a future for themselves, and knowing that whether it be vicariously or indirectly, I am going to be a part of it. And most importantly, being part of my own.

Depression is with me, and for the foreseeable future, always will be. The key is to accept it, and to then work your way around it. I am great full for so much in my life, and sometimes the depression can fade all of that into the background. But I have learned from my mistakes that this will inevitably, yet unfortunately, happen regularly. And when it does happen, to give myself the time I need to recover, and to eventually get back up on my feet again, in the way you would treat a physical illness.

I have depression. I am no longer ashamed to admit it, and neither should anyone else.

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