Depression affects roughly 14.8 million people in the United States, or 6.7 percent of the population. It can be situational or bio-chemical and can happen to anyone. The idea that mental illness and physical illness are on two different planes is like saying e-readers aren’t books. Some believe that all mental illness is just a way of thinking, that it can be easily changed with a way of thinking. This process makes it harder for those who have to live with this every day. Those suffering from depression are often told what they are going through isn’t real; that they need to stop thinking that way. I have been on the receiving end of this argument multiple times.

Being a hormonal teenage girl, my depression was viewed as teenage angst. But, as my symptoms progressed, I started thinking it was more than the angst that comes with growing up. Trying not to create drama within my family, I never said anything. I thought to myself constantly, “You are being a whiny teenager. Don’t blow things out of proportion.” So I kept it to myself.

I learned however, the longer I went without saying something, the harder things became. The more I tried to hide my symptoms, the more alone I felt. That’s the scariest part for me, always feeling alone. Eventually I decided to tell my mom, and as I suspected, the conversation ended with her saying “It's probably just hormonal.”

Without showing signs of improvement I decided to go therapy, where I was diagnosed with severe depression. Being officially diagnosed with depression was new territory for both me and my mother. For a very long time she would ask, “Why?” when I said I was sad. I started to hate when she would ask, “Why?” It’s not the easiest question to respond to. I knew how I felt, but I had no idea how to express it in words. “I don’t know, mom.” Would be my go-to phrase. She would then try to find something to cheer me up stating things like, “Well the day is almost over,” or “It’s almost Friday.”

I couldn’t help but feel that if my parents were more educated about mental illness then things would have been different. Their ignorance wasn’t their fault, but it affected my life on a daily basis. The difficulty I had getting out of bed in the morning, and staying in focus throughout the day were signs of laziness to them.

For me, depression is like living with a dementor from Harry Potter. It is a feeling of emptiness, there is no beauty or happiness in the world. And I started getting sick of it, I didn’t think that there was anything I could do. I talked to my friend Bella about it constantly. She knew how it felt, because she had been in the same position. But it was still hard. No matter how helpful her advice was, I was tired of feeling so terrible everyday. I decided the only way to free myself was to jump in front of my train that I take everyday to and from school. I didn’t have a specific date, just a deadline. I planned to jump before Christmas, I knew there would be a day where I would give up. I decided that when that day came, I would jump.

One evening I was sitting at my grandmothers house. My family was talking and I was zoning out, they started asking me about college and my future. A sensitive subject for me since I didn’t see myself living to see Christmas morning. They began joking about my indecisions like families do. As the evening progressed I felt worse and worse. I decided to text Bella, ranting to her about everything. Going back and forth our conversation led to me telling her

It's so hard though. They don’t know how much it hurts when they joke with me like that. They don’t know how this feels. They don’t know that I dig my nails into my palms every morning so I don’t jump in front of my train. Every. Single. Morning.

She said: You can’t jump in front of your train, there are too many people who would jump in after you. I sure as hell am one of them

The next morning as my train pulled closer to the platform I just kept thinking, “There are too many people who would jump in after you.” I still say that to myself everyday. Sometimes as a reason to stay, other times to be thankful.

Thinking about it today, one of the people I owe the most thanks to is Bella. She was where I was before, and she knew how to help me. At my worst points, she wrote me a poem to read every time I felt hopeless. She is the reason I am still here, she helped me to keep going.

Of course I would also try talking to my parents, which often times made the situation worse.Their lack of knowledge on the subject lead to many assumptions. Though I knew it was not their fault I couldn’t help but feel angry at them. Their assumptions that I was in a bad mood because of my day at school, or that my fatigue was as a lack of sleep the night prior, made me feel selfish because of my depression.

My parent's bias is shared by so many today. Mental illness is something that isn’t talked about. Because of this, to many people, mental illness and physical illness are not on the same level. When in reality they should be. It’s okay to call out of work because you have the Flu, but calling out because you are depressed could come across to an employer as lazy. This bias is hard to remedy in someone who hasn’t experienced mental illness first hand. Experiencing mental illness creates a bias that the illness should be treated like physical illnesses. Mental illness can have physical symptoms, and limit what you do in everyday life. Just like a physical illness. This idea can be harder to grasp for someone who doesn’t have a mental illness.

Now I can happily say that things are getting better. After educating my parents on the matter of mental illnesses, life at home have improved exponentially. Though my parents haven’t lived with depression, they understand the effects my depression has on me. My parents were oblivious, and it seemed like they didn’t care. But after explaining and showing them what depression is like, they began to understand. Their acceptance of my illness has made living with my depression so much easier. At the time I didn’t see my life improving. With the support of my family and friends, my depression--though still existent--became tolerable. Even with this amazing support system, I still have bad days, but my supporters are constantly encouraging me to keep going. I didn’t believe it for a long time, but things do get better.