My name is Erika Evans. I am 22 years old. I have been attending college for 4 years now, yet still have the academic standing of a freshman. I have made bad choices. I love dogs. And I have Borderline Personality Disorder.

The last part is something I recently discovered about myself. Or at least the proper noun for what it was I was feeling. I was diagnosed almost a year ago after a bad night where I took a knife to my wrist and cried myself to sleep in my closet over an ex-boyfriend. BPD is essentially bipolar, depression, extreme emotional responses, and a dash of instability when it comes to relationships.

“Treatment” is not what I would call whatever has happened in the last year. I tried therapy and didn’t like it. When I am at rest, I know how to logically handle situations, but when I am all caught up, the only thing I know how to do is make an irrational decision based on emotion. So, when my therapist was just giving me logical advise, my answer was “no shit.” Probably another sign of my BPD.

With the diagnosis came a lot of answers to certain things I was feeling and a lot of questions about everything else.

What does it mean? Is there a cure? Will medication turn me into a different person? Can I afford to treat this mental illness for the rest of my life? And so the anxiety ridden person is thrown another load of anxiety with the diagnosis.

Then summer began and I stopped going to therapy. Probably not my best move. Instead I spent a summer full of erratic behavior that included working every day and blacking out every night. And during those blackouts came eating various late-night calzones and going home with random boys. One of my friends compared it to masturbation just with another human-being instead of your own hand. There was no feelings, even though I tried to stir some up just to see if I could feel something. Nada.

Fall semester was much of the same, although I did try therapy again which included adding another medication to my Prozac that would help treat the depression as well as the anxiety. My parents announced that they would be getting a divorce, and my mom ran away to Iowa for a few months to try and figure out her own mental illness. And the guiltless spending continued on food, alcohol, and uber.

It was taking so much energy to be normal, and I think I finally got tired. So here I am now.

Withdrawn from school and looking for another path. I keep waiting for some kind of ah-ha moment. Some kind of moment of clarity for an answer to just appear to me. Still nothing. I’ve taken long showers, gone for a long drive in the country, taken walks- anything that your typical movie scene moment would include. Except for the life-altering decision to be made.

I’m stuck. But the main thing that I keep reminding myself is that I’m not the only one stuck. Whether you’re about to graduate from college with no idea what career your future holds, you’re changing majors, or you’ve decided that school is all too much like me, there are so many other people struggling with you. And maybe it’s a fucked up thing to say that we’re all clueless as to what we’re doing. But I feel comforted by the fact that there are so many of us aimlessly wandering to figure out the answers in life. And I suppose that’s why I feel the need to write and share my deepest secrets here. So that maybe you won’t feel alone either.

I’ve often had people tell me that as you lose more and more people to death, Heaven just starts to seem that much sweeter.

February 8 was the day that Allen Nasworthy died after losing a battle with depression. That Monday is engraved in my mind as a day I will never forget. I’ll never forget sitting in chapel that morning when I got a text saying, “Emergency, please call me!” followed by another message saying, “please call me ASAP.”

As I processed these words in my mind, I began to feel sick because I knew exactly what I was about to hear. I knew what I was about to hear, but I didn’t want it to be confirmed. I’ll never forget hearing those words, “he’s dead.”

At that point I felt like my world came to a screeching halt. Everyone’s world around me continued on as they hustled to class, but all I could do was sink to the ground on that sidewalk and cry like I’ve never cried before. All I wanted to do was jump in my car and drive from my school in South Carolina down to camp.

As those hard words sunk in, I felt like my heart was breaking.

I sat there on the back steps of the library as memories of Allen flew through my mind. I felt like I was in a nightmare and just couldn’t wake up. As I called my family and close friends I could barely get out “Allen is dead” simply because it didn’t seem like it was really happening. I’ve never lost anyone really close to me before, so this feeling was completely new to me.

After the initial grief subsided for the moment, I went into immediate denial. In my mind, there was no way that Allen was dead. He was simply out restocking on Red Bull, and at any moment, his headlights would crest that hill pulling into Fortson. Everyone would realize that they were wrong.

After denial, my next reaction was anger and bitterness, anger that Allen had done this to his family and to his friends. Didn’t he know how many people out there loved him and cared about him? How could he do this to them? Allen was the life of the party in whatever setting he was in, but he didn’t tell many people about his inner struggle with depression.

Allen fought very hard, but eventually the lies of depression won the battle.

I returned home from college that Wednesday and immediately drove down to camp. As I turned onto Fortson road, it finally hit me that this was really happening. As I walked around the center that night it was eerily quiet. The animals stood there quietly, the pond didn’t stir, and the trees didn’t blow. Fortson didn’t feel like Fortson. It felt like it knew that its keeper was gone and wasn’t coming back.

That Thursday was hard for so many people as we all traveled to the little church in South Georgia and said goodbye to our dear friend. The world and especially Fortson 4-H center would never be the same without him.

My connection with Allen Nasworthy isn’t like most others. I met him in March of 2015. I went to Camp Fortson with my teen group while I was in high school and fell in love with the place. When I first contacted UGA about working there over the summer, I met Allen who was the Center Director. Allen was so helpful with the whole process of getting hired and starting work there.

When I met Allen in person at the beginning of the summer, I never dreamed of the friendship that would begin. When I started my summer helping out around the center, he was just my boss, but by the middle of the summer, he was so much more than just my boss.

He was my friend, and I was so thankful for him.

He was my friend that I could laugh with, joke with, or have serious conversations about life with. Allen was awesome. As many know, it didn’t take long to get to know Allen. His smile was so contagious, and no one was a stranger to him.

As my summer working at camp drew to an end, I was disappointed to leave but enjoyed getting updates from Allen all the time on how things were going. I enjoyed getting crazy snapchats from him and reading his random hilarious texts.

Almost every break and weekend that I was home from school I always made it a point to stop by camp, walk around the pond, see the animals at the farm, and sit in the office and talk with Allen as he worked tirelessly. A week before Allen died, I was home from college for the weekend, and he told me to stop by and say hey.

Wow, what I would give to have known at that point that it would be the last time I would ever see him.

I would’ve stayed and told him how many people genuinely cared for him and loved him. I was worried about Allen as I knew he was struggling and knew that he was starting to distance himself from those around him, but I never dreamed it would lead to what it did.

Before I pulled out of Fortson that day, Allen shook my hand, looked me in the eyes, did that mischievous smile that only he could do, and said, “Hey, I’ll see ya later”. This stuck in my mind for some reason because he had never done it before.

Looking back now, I realize that this was Allen’s goodbye to me.

Every day Allen pops into my mind at some point, and when he does, I thank the Lord for the opportunity I had to know him. Even though I only knew him for a short time, he impacted my life greatly. He taught me so much, and I will always remember it. Thank you Allen for the impact you had on my life in those short summer months.

I am so excited to be going back to Fortson this summer. It is going to be hard passing his house and office everyday, but I think Allen would want it. We, the camp staff and counselors, are going to work together to put on a summer program that would make Allen look down and smile.

The last thing Allen ever said to me was, “You a great friend bud.”

This phrase is short, but it is something that I will cherish forever. On April 24, 2016, I will be joining many of Allen’s family and friends as we walk in the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention’s Out of Darkness Walk in Memory of Allen Nasworthy (you can check out my fundraising page here).

Casting Crowns once sang in one of their songs, “So when you’re on your knees and answers seem so far away, you’re not alone, stop holding on and just be held. Your world’s not falling apart, it’s falling into place. I’m on the throne, stop holding on and just be held.”

This text has been so helpful to me. Even if we feel like our world is falling apart, we know that God is holding us and that He’s going to get us through. If you’re fighting depression, DON’T GIVE UP! Talk to someone and get help, because you are loved whether you believe it or not.

Psalm 34:17-19 “When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all.”

Let me start with this: do not include your daughter in your divorce. Do not include your daughter in your divorce. Do not include your daughter in your divorce.

Now we can proceed.

I’m not going to discuss the events. I’m not going to discuss my feelings toward the events. I’m not going to discuss the shambles of a failing-after-twenty-five-years family.

Instead we’re going to talk about depression.

Everyone calls depression a “shadow” or “monster” or, as my minister puts it, “the big black dog.” But it’s not actually like that. Depression is the cousin who you see every once in a while, depending on how close you two are. Depression offers the comfort of familiarity for a time, until you two stop getting along of course.

My cousin and I rarely saw each other growing up, separated by 390 miles and awkward family tensions. But when all of…this? unfolded, she became my best friend. She knows my family – it’s small and we’re all each other has. So naturally I would team up with her. But when we were younger, we’d anticipate each other’s company like a dog for his owner after a long day’s work, except we became cats after a few hours and the claws came out and home we went.

This is depression.

So let’s return to that divorce thing. When you’re twenty-one, you’d think your parents’ divorce wouldn’t affect you the way it would if you were five. But the problem is, a five year old doesn’t know anything and thus isn’t included in the conversations. No one wants the five-year-old to think that Daddy is an abusive alcoholic, no one wants the five-year-old to know that Mommy had an affair – so why the twenty-one year old? Just because she understands the word “divorce” doesn’t mean she has to understand the underlying reasons for it.

Which brings us to this morning. When I was in the car with my best friends in the world. When I was in charge of driving us the seven hours it takes to get home from my grandparents’. When it took all I had to not swerve the car and hit a tree because my cousin was back.

(Aside: not my actual cousin, she’s wonderful)

I can’t explain why or how depression comes back the way it does, but it does. I know Mother had texted me regarding Father, sharing some things I really didn’t need to know but it was also related to me so all in all I had to be included. But all in all, the texts triggered the depression, which basically tried to push me off the cliff and I was holding on like Mufasa as Scar released him to the wildebeest stampede.

Heh. That’s actually really accurate.

Point is, I choked down lunch, crawled through Walmart, had my boyfriend open my energy drink because I just couldn’t bring myself to, and tried to cheer up with our custom road trip playlist. I’m not sure what did it, but somewhere in there I was able to choke out a laugh and managed to pull myself back up.

I told you I wasn’t going to talk about my feelings toward the divorce. That’s not what this is.  This is about a crippling (cliché, I know) disease that is triggered by my feelings toward the divorce. My brain spins with questions; is it adultery or alcoholism or abuse or hatred or disgust or all of the above and more? And when circling my thoughts, digging for answers or even a sliver of my broken hope, the depression tugs at my sleeves and at my heartstrings, begging for the attention I willingly give. Yes, I do miss it. Yes, I do crave it. Yes, sometimes I neglect to take my anxiety medication because I like the panic attack. But in this particular instance, when I was responsible for three lives for the next seven (ended up eight) hours, it was not the time to allow myself to break down.

My boyfriend will put it like this when we’re in public and he needs to panic: “I need to be okay right now.” I give him flack for it because I want him to feel safe and comfortable, but then I turn around and do the exact same thing. Later I tell him about what was going on during lunch, but I brush it off like it was no big deal and there’s absolutely no mention of the suicidal thoughts. So while I want to break down, I need to be okay right now.

And I think that’s how my parents feel. I don’t think they realize the effect they’re having on me by throwing me into this during my second-to-last semester of college. My grades are dropping and I’m not 100% certain it’s because I’m not studying enough. You just can’t take someone who is mentally unstable and throw rocks at them. The glass façade shatters and leaves shards everywhere which the person then steps on do you see my point?

 I’m not stressed or troubled or sad or whatever I probably should be given the circumstances of my family. I’m empty.

The only time I’ve cried regarding it was because I was worried about my dog and how he’ll feel. That’s it. I’ve wanted to cry, I’ve wanted to panic, but all that comes is discomfort in my stomach and a few choice words. And apparently now potential suicide risk. But no tears.

There’s really no good way to end this, but I feel like I’ve said what I needed to say. I have my family at college and my family at church. I have my best friends and I have my cousin. Starting tomorrow I’ll have my dog for a week. I am safe and I am loved, not that those thoughts help the depression at all. But they’re something.

This feels like the worst ending in the history of endings, but the story is not over yet. Philippians 1:6

For those of you who don’t know,  this week is National Suicide Prevention Week. So, I’m just going to start this off by throwing some statistics at you. Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the US. On average, there are 117 suicides per day. Each year, 42,773 Americans die as a result of suicide. So, are you listening now?

While mental illness is not the only cause of suicide, it is the leading factor. Mental illness is not something we can keep ignoring. As a society, we’ve created such a negative stigma around those who suffer from mental illnesses, but in reality, 57.7 million people in the United States suffer from a diagnosable mental illness every year. Having dealt with my own depression and anxiety and watched others do the same, this is something that I hold very near and dear to me.

I am here to be a voice.

Mental illness is not something that you just “get over,” so stop telling people who are depressed to “stop being sad.” Depression is so much more than just being sad. It comes in waves. Some days you are the happiest person in the world. Other days you feel like the entire world is crashing down around you, and sometimes you don’t even know why.

Mental illness is not something you can just explain, so stop telling people to tell you what’s wrong or what they’re freaking out about. Sometimes even on the brightest days, depression can make you feel like the world is coming to an end. Sometimes you wake up at 4 in the morning feeling so much anxiety you could throw up. It doesn’t always have an explanation, and sometimes it just happens.

Mental illness is not always something that can be seen with the eyes, so stop saying it’s not real just because you don’t see it. Sometimes anxiety, depression, and other mental illnesses are suffered internally. Just because someone seems like the happiest, most outgoing person in the world, doesn’t mean they aren’t dealing with anything. As a matter of fact, most people who deal with mental illness are dealing with it alone, which really sucks.

Mental illness is not just for “crazy people,” so stop making it a “no-go” for conversation and causing people to feel so alone. Quite honestly, there are so many people who deal with mental illness of some form on a daily basis. The only “crazy” thing about it is that we try so hard to ignore it. Mental illness is something that we should be able to talk about as easily as the common cold.

Mental illness is not a cry for attention. Seriously. IT IS A REAL THING AND PEOPLE DEAL WITH IT AND WHEN YOU TELL PEOPLE THEY ARE JUST ASKING FOR ATTENTION YOU ARE JUST MAKING THINGS WORSE AND YOU NEED TO NOT.

Mental illness is not discriminatory. I first started going to counseling for depression when I was 8 years old. It is something that impacts regardless of race, gender, religious affiliation, age, what your favorite football team is, what your favorite color is, or what you ate for dinner last night. It can be anyone.

Mental illness is not a sign of weakness. People who deal with mental illness of any kind are some of the strongest people there are. They are fighting a battle bigger than you could ever imagine every single day of their life, and most of the time you don’t even know.

Most importantly, mental illness is not something you have to take on alone.

I challenge every single person who reads this to change your way of thinking. Say something kind to someone this week. Do some random act of kindness. You never know who you could be helping or how much it could mean to someone. Most importantly, act as a voice, whether that is in the form of sharing this blog post or sharing your own words. We can’t continue to ignore something so big.

For anyone dealing with your own battle with mental illness, just know, you are not alone. You are strong. You are amazing. Shine your light for the world to see.

#MORETHANMYSPORT

Over the past year, more than 50 student athletes have shared their story on Wish Dish from across the country. If you read some of these stories, you will notice that many of these stories share consistencies such as injury, faith, anxiety, depression, isolation, identity, and suicide.

While student-athletes might struggle with similar pressures of college students, we have also learned that student-athletes are some of the most passionate and driven people. Simply, they are not defined just by their sport. The adversities in their sport make them better people … lessons that apply to their everyday life.

From all of our conversations, we decided to launch a campaign focusing on self-identity called #morethanmysport to allow athletes to share who they are beyond their sport. This campaign was well received, connected student-athletes closer together, and started the spark for athletes around the country to realize they are so much more than just their sport.

Mary Terry, University of Georgia, Track & Field

What do cosmic brownies, old people, and Zac Galifinakis all have in common? Mary Terry loves all of them (Even though they have absolutely nothing to do with running. Watch Mary’s video to learn about more of her favorite things.

Connor Messick, University of Virginia, Golf

Connor may one-day hope to be a professional golfer, but in the mean time, he can still travel the world and whip up a batch of delicious chocolate-chip pancakes. What Connor’s video to find out what else he does when he’s not on the golf course.

Keturah Orji, University of Georgia, Track & Field

As much as Keturah loves track and field, she loves Jesus even more, and as fast as she may run, she’s even faster at solving a Rubik’s cube. Watch Keturah’s video to find out just how long it takes her to solve a Rubik’s cube.

Leontia Kellenou, University of Georgia, Track & Field

Leontia probably wishes she could use her high jump skills to propel herself 7,000 miles to her home in Cyprus whenever she wanted. But instead she must wait for summer to go visit her family and friends. Watch Lenotia’s video to find out what she loves (and doesn’t love) about her home.

Meaghan Raab, University of Georgia, Swimming

Two truths and one line: Meaghan has moved seven times. She once had a massive bouncy ball collection. And she can recite every line of Tangled. You can find out which of these facts is true by watching Meaghan’s video.

Tatiana Gusin, University of Georgia, Track & Field

Tatiana plays one sport, but she’s lived in two different cities called Athens and speaks four different languages. You can count on some more fun facts about Tatiana if you watch her video.

Mady Fagan, University of Georgia, Track & Field

Mady might be known for the power in her legs, but did you know that she’s just as skilled with her hands? Check out some of Mady’s drawings and paintings by watching her video.

Bridget Sloan, University of Florida, Gymnast

The clothes that Bridget wears while she is doing gymnastics are just as important to her as the sport itself. And her love for all things fabric doesn’t stop there. Watch Bridget’s video to find out what we mean.

Reed Scott, University of South Carolina, Baseball

Reed is a team player when it comes to baseball, but he is just as much of a team player off the field too. Watch Reed’s video to learn about all of the different ways that he loves to contribute to his community.

Chantal Van, University of Georgia Swimmer

Being an Olympic swimmer doesn’t stop Chantal from indulging in all sorts of junk food, and being a bad dancer and singer doesn’t stop her from shamelessly busting out her moves. Watch Chantal’s video to learn about more things you might not know about her.

If you are student athlete or former student athlete and want to connect to our athletics community, please ask to join from this link. We look forward to empowering student-athletes around the country to express themselves and connect in meaningful ways.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/167710410323239/

I thought my high school experience was normal at first. Surely everyone in my AP World History class sobbed into their pillows three times a week. We all joked about the class making us unhappy. We all felt consistently stressed and anxious. We all struggled to sleep and spent our nights googling “how to be happy.” My experience was normal. I spent the entirety of my sophomore year of high school telling myself that.

Not everything was bad. There would be parts of my day here and there that I would embrace and play on repeat when certain thoughts started creeping in. My family loves each other a disgusting amount. I was and am surrounded by this unit of constant love and support. My parents are financially stable, and I went to bed with a full stomach each night. There was no reason for my unhappiness, yet it continued beyond sophomore year and AP History. When I stopped hanging out with my friends, it was not because I did not like them. I did. A part of me hoped that they would pursue my friendship even after I avoided their texts and phone calls, but it was too exhausting to pretend to be happy all the time.

Instead I would sit in my room alone for hours. I don’t even remember what I used to do for all that time.

I do remember coming home from my aunt’s house one Sunday evening after dinner. My parents sat up front in the car, and I sat in the back seat with my twin sister. She was teasing me about something insignificant, and instead of teasing her back, I broke down. I cried. I yelled. I cried more. All of this in a four minute car ride. When we got home, I immediately went to my room, but I was too worked up. I couldn’t figure out why I was so upset, but the feelings were very real and very persistent. So I went for a walk. I found myself sitting among some trees by a parkway. I just cried and held my knees to my chest for about half an hour. The world was loud. My thoughts were loud. The cars were loud. Everything was overwhelming. My thoughts went a certain way, and even my happy memories that I would use to calm myself down were not working. I had considered taking my own life before, but it always seemed to be an abstract concept. Not like this. This felt present. This felt immediate. I stood and watched the cars zoom by me. I thought about how easy it would be to step into traffic. I was tired. I had been aggressively crying and holding myself for the better part of an hour. This was my worst breakdown yet, and I am forever grateful that I was tired. I was too tired to walk into traffic.

I sat back down and only part of me realized how close I was at attempting suicide.

My parents and sister were huddled around the computer when I walked back into the house. I tried to go upstairs without talking about what just happened, but my sister stopped me. They asked me if I was depressed. I denied. They asked if I wanted to talk to someone. I declined. I lied to my perfect, only trying to help family. I lied to my twin sister, my other half, but after a year of pretending to be happy, I was finally called on my bluff. I remember the relief of falling asleep that night. I knew I wasn’t fooling my family anymore, and I realized I wasn’t fooling myself anymore. I wanted to live, and in order to do that I realized I had to face my depression. I could no longer passively watch it ruin my friendships, my grades, or my relationship with my family.

My journey to happiness was not completed in one night. It took another year before I had more good days than bad, and it took another year after that before my bad days were all but gone. I was never alone, but it sure felt like it until I opened up to my last remaining friend about my depression. She was going through it, too. I wasn’t alone. We relied on each other to do simple tasks like going to the gym or writing in our journals. She encouraged me to make new friends, and I did. I started spending less time shut in my room.

Life became enjoyable again.

I now appreciate the bad days when I have them. I think I will always have them, but now they are choppy waves rather than tsunamis. They remind me how much I enjoy life on the good days. I still worry that my happiness will be taken from me for what seems like no reason at all, but I know now that I don’t have to face depression alone. I can now openly talk about my history with it. When I feel overwhelmed, I know that I have people. I hope that in sharing this story I can help eliminate the stigma of mental health issues. I am beyond grateful that I was tired. I am beyond grateful that I have a caring family. I am beyond grateful that I am still alive.

If you think someone may be struggling with depression, I urge you to reach out. Just showing kindness to someone may impact their life. You may provide a happy memory that quells the creeping thoughts. There is no easy fix when it comes to mental illness, but things do get better.

In 1867; a certain Isaac Newton, still trying to dodge falling apples, was working on the 3rd law of motion – ‘For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.’ I’d like to discuss how this law worked for me, by giving me as much energy and inspiration to fight a disease that took so much from me.

But first, it’s only fair that I shed a little context on my life leading up to my depression diagnosis. When I was 10, I endured a life changing battle – one that I’m so proud to say I’ve won, but in no sense unscathed. My life up until November 2004 was, in search for a better word, easy. I had excelled athletically; with the physical strength of a boy that lived life to play football (soccer in your language) and run up mountains (Something that I did once to the despair of my dad, whose screams became all too distant to notice).

Then, on the first week of November I was ill. I writhed around in agony on the sofa for the better part of a week, having been diagnosed with gastroenteritis (a viral stomach bug) by a trainee doctor. Unfortunately, he made his diagnosis majorly wrong. As I lay there twisting in pain, my appendix was ready to rupture and change my life.

The next conversation I had with a medical professional went like this:

“Calum, the anesthetic hasn’t seemed to work yet. I’m going to have to put this mask on you to put you to sleep. Count down from 10 for me will you” “10…. 9….. 8……7…………”

My eyes closed, not to awaken again for another week. Unbeknownst to me, I had suffered peritonitis due to 2 litres of poison ripping through my body like a pinball shooting around a machine, smashing into healthy organs and cascading around me. My body couldn’t cope and shut down every organ (barring my heart and brain) whilst I lay there in a coma; able to hear fragments of my parents conversations and prayers but without the consciousness and physical ability to respond.

The following year was nowhere near as hard for me as it should have been, due to the most incredible family and friends. I will value their unequivocal love and support forever. From the moment I woke, the life I once knew was history and I had been shunted onto a new path.

This new life required me to learn how to speak and swallow again. I had so much muscle damage that it took me another week to build enough strength to turn my head and raise my arm.   Over the years, through physiotherapy, I’ve reached a stage where I can walk again and participate in life without many obvious impediments.

However, such a life altering moment wears down on you.

Like attrition, life chipped away at my resolve. At the age of 17; these small stones of not being able to play sports to the ability I once could, embarrassment of my situation, and the added pressure of fulfilling a life I felt fortunate to live, had carved a hole in me. It had worn me down and knocked me into a deep dark pool with no ladders. It had knocked me into depression. Being a naive kid that had never suffered from any signs of poor mental health, I did what too many people in my situation do.

I convinced myself that it’s just a phase and woke up every day, opened the wardrobe and grabbed another disguised face of happiness to wear. It wasn’t until late 2015 that I forced myself to visit the doctor, and received an official diagnosis. Sometimes in life, moments come along and you think ‘That’s changed everything’ these moments may include: Hearing the unimaginable beauty of Daft Punk for the first time. The first taste of Ben & Jerry’s that leaves you contemplating the meaning of Ice Cream.

For me, the diagnosis was one of them. I turned to Newton and realized that if this depression had been dragging me down for 4 years, then there’s at least 4 years of energy that I’m going to use to not only beat this illness but to completely obliterate it.

Step One

The first and arguably the most profound benefit of being diagnosed, was that it separated me from my illness. Up until that point, I thought my mood was as intrinsic to me as the birth scar on my neck, or my inability to perform tongue twisters.

Discovering that depression was an alien illness that had not only invaded me; but was making itself at home in my head, sipping a cup of tea whilst flicking through Netflix documentaries, gave me something to fight. It’s hard to fight a battle when you think you’re the enemy. Recognizing that depression wasn’t a fabric of my life, but more of dirty piece of cloth that had attached itself to me, I decided to reconnect to a former depression-free version of myself.

In a sort of premature mid-life crises, I began immersing myself with things that I had based my life around as a child. I started cycling again, surrounded myself with books from ranging from Fiction to Historical Fantasies, Memoirs to Classics, all in an attempt to rediscover what made me happy. I believe this to be such a vital aspect of maintaining a happy lifestyle. For one that is so simple, it’s often overlooked.

Whatever makes you happy, do it, do it as much as you can because the main person you’re responsible for keeping happy, is you.

For any True Detective fans out there “Life’s barely long enough to get good at one thing. So be careful what you get good at” – Rust Cohle Matthew McConaughey’s nihilistic and detached character delivered many pertinent life lessons in True Detective, but this one grabbed my attention to most. Life is short, and if you can only master one thing in life, make sure it’s something you truly believe in.

Step Two

Use the resources around you to help others, and yourself in the process. I’m fortunate to be studying Marketing Communications & Advertising at Sheffield Hallam University – located in England. Sheffield is a great place, full of students and brimming with people that want to work collaboratively to end this mental health crisis. The depression I suffered with, gave me the inspiration to use my marketing modules to help break down the stigma attached to mental illness.

I, along with a team of students, have been working with a local mental health charity to redesign takeaway boxes, which incidentally are as familiar to students as krill is to whales. The new boxes (With different stick faces, catchphrases and colors on them) are designed to surprise and amuse students, encouraging them to share pictures online and using marketing to build awareness for the great work that Mind are doing in Sheffield.

Secondly, I’ve had the pleasure of working with the University ‘Social Enterprise’ team, to raise funds for a new concept. The concept (Cafe Branches) would be a local cafe that employed mental health practitioners to sit with and aid customers that wanted an informal chat about their health. In a similar-to-Uber style app, customers could choose their guide and see what debates and lectures were taking place.

Step Three

I became my own biggest fan. Imagine that battling depression is like a boxing match. It’s been a hard fight and you’ve taken some fair blows, you’re tiring and struggling to keep your breath after 8 hard rounds of sparring. The bell rings and you go back to your corner, sit on the stool and wait for the sweat to be wiped away from your brow. In jumps the trainer, but instead of Paulie (Rocky Balboa reference), it’s actually you, re-energising and demanding that you believe in yourself.

‘It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep on going etc etc’. Big yourself up every day, be biased, be encouraging. It doesn’t matter how trivial it is. Sometimes I give myself a pat on the back when I choose the perfect song to listen to, or even when I add a new word to my vocabulary. Constant self appraisal is the perfect antidote to the self-loathing and self-ridicule I used to partake in when I was at my deepest points, and I attribute it to my sanguine (Giving myself a pat on the back for that one) attitude now.

So back to Newton; if his law states that for everything in life, there’s an equal and opposite force, then I believe depression brings with it the tools to defeat it. Depression can rob you of the happiness you once thought was your default setting, so go back to the very things that brought you that happiness. Depression spreads false rumors and doubts in your head, so do the opposite and big yourself up as much as Kanye does (Just maybe not as publicly).

I am a college student dealing with my daily depression and social anxiety.

I have a constant internal struggle because I suffer from loneliness, but having social anxiety makes me afraid to put myself out there to new people. I want to build connections, but I’m too afraid of being rejected. So, I stay at home, often alone. At first, I chalked it up to just being annoyed by daily occurrences, but then I wanted to be alone too often. I would find comfort behind a closed door in silence, but knowing the need to progress, I knew I needed to make a change.

I was going through a rough patch when I first met my cat Cali, and I absolutely fell in love.

She was the cutest and sweetest kitten I ever met. Her head was way too big for her body, and the way she always looked lost and confused warmed my heart. I hadn’t been much of an animal lover. Even when my mother bought me a puppy for my sixteenth birthday I said, “Mom, I don’t even like dogs.” This time though, it was different. I took her home from the shelter and I began to spend even more time at home, but this time, I wasn’t alone. Cali was with me.

People laugh when I say that I love Cali, but I do (probably too much). She keeps me company when I’m lonely. She gives me space when I need it. She loves cuddling in the morning (which I am not too fond of because I’m not a morning person), but no matter what my day has been like, she is always there for me; no questions asked. I don’t have to explain myself to her, or feel inadequate when I say the wrong thing.

She took  a lonely suicidal college student, and gave me piece of mind and love. Of course, human interaction is still a necessary treatment to loneliness, but with Cali, I have more confidence to meet new people. She’s taught me how to love unconditionally, even when she wakes me up at 4am by sitting on my face, or when she scratches holes in new t-shirts. Cali has also taught me how to love myself. She’s taught me that I am good enough.

It may seem as though I saved Cali when I brought her home from the shelter that day, but actually, she saved me.

Hi, I’m Daisy Alexandria, I love designing and making one of a kind jewelry. When looking at my social media you’ll see lots of inspiration, fun, events, and “pretty pictures” but what you rarely see is my daily yoga wear, chipped/broken fingernails, the relentless dark circles, the fear battling, the shame healing, the truth telling…

But this is just the beginning. I am hoping to be a light and remind others to keep shining bright, to actually LIVE their life. Thanks @halfthestory for reminding us to keep it real.

Starting Instagram with the intention of a happy positive social media platform still didn’t keep me from playing the compare and despair game. So I began posting inspirational quotes (cha cha cheesy, I know), but the response was amazing.

I was able to find some much needed real connections and realize that so many other people were looking for encouragement and friendly reminders as well!

We have all faced so many battles and are lost and broken at times.

I love the #halfthestory campaign because it highlights the parts we try to keep in the dark, and the only way to beat darkness is by bringing in to light. Depression, anorexia, and physical and mental abuse kept me in hiding for far too long.

I love that this campaign represents more than just a pretty picture. I see it so clearly with my husband who writes songs and restores old cars; everyone always tells him he is so lucky and talented and that they wish they could do what he does.

But they never know that he works 75 hours a week, will redo the same exact thing 10 times to get it right, and struggles over every word and melody for months. Sometimes, he is in so much pain he doesn’t think he can go on.

Instead of enjoying the process and journey, we tend to only see and reach for the end result and the acknowledgement that comes with it. My hope is to prevent some of the negative self image and self destruction and to provide a safe encouraging place for all the absolutely wonderful weirdos like me!

Thanks to #halfthestory I’m taking the pledge to be even more authentic online as well as embrace the complete and complicated stories of other. I hope you will too.

It was April 16, 2012, just another day of awakening to get ready for our family to head to school and work. Kisses were given out, my husband and daughter loads up in the truck to head to school and I get in my car headed to work. Little did we know that would be the very last time that we would see our daughter….alive.

Everyone gets home about 5:45. I had gone out to the clothesline to get in a blanket that I had hung out that morning, folded it up and was sitting on the back porch steps waiting on the dog to go to the bathroom. It was then that I heard this very loud noise, looked to my left and saw a dusting of smoke. I immediately went in the house and asked my husband, who was watching TV, if he heard that terribly loud noise. I then walked in our bedroom to put away the blanket.

It was at that very moment that I saw our daughter lying helplessly in the middle of our floor in a pool of her very own blood. The site was so horrible and I will NEVER forget it as long as I am alive.

She was gone and there was absolutely nothing that we could do to get her back. Our lives had been shattered forever. The root of Meagan’s death was bullying…..that awful, awful word that affects more and more people each and everyday. After Meagan’s death we found out that on the bus one of her friends noticed that she was not acting like her normal upbeat self and was very quiet. Her friend then asked her if she was okay and she said she was and then exited the bus. We also found out that Meagan had texted her cousin and told her that she was going to kill herself that evening.

Instead of immediately reaching out to one of us, nothing was said.

To this very day, I am so upset that she did not contact us. If she had, I am pretty sure I would not be typing up this story right now. Meagan was such a bubbly, spirited child who was loved by all and played the trumpet in the Oglethorpe County March Band. She now fills the Heavens with her wonderful trumpet sounds.

I can’t express enough how important it is for people to Stand Up, Speak Out and Be Heard! Be the voice that someone who is depressed or suicidal needs to hear. All lives matter!

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