Have you ever woken up with an impassioned weakness? Not the type of weakness that stems from a long day at work or running a few miles. The type of uneasy frailty where walking ten feet to the bathroom is physically exhausting; as though shackles bound by cinder blocks are grasping your ankles and at any moment your body is going to give out. Anyone who has experienced this defeat knows the most relatable way to explain it to someone who’s been blessed never to have lived in this imprisonment is just that – it’s an unescapable prison. Have you ever woken up to find the things your most passionate about have lost their appeal? What about having the inability to fall asleep until 7 a.m. and waking up the next morning is intimately close too impossible. Sure that may sound like a cliché, nearly impossible, but while your mind races and attempts to motivate your body to move, you feel a sense of paralysis: your mind is fighting against your body and every single time your body wins out. Over the past two weeks I’ve been reminded of something I know most people take for granted: happiness. I’m not entirely sure where to begin but the first thing that comes to mind is that if you’ve never wrestled with these feelings, you’re beyond fortunate. For someone who struggles with major depressive disorder, a battle more than three million Americans are fighting per year, it brings me a great deal of sadness to hear people, who have never fought so hard just to do “daily tasks,” say things along the lines of “stop feeling sorry for yourself” or “try not to be so depressed.” However, what brings me a greater deal of sadness is witnessing those who struggle with depression silently try and fight these hardships. Since seventh grade I’ve grappled with these emotions daily; it wasn’t until sophomore year in college that I began opening up to certain people about the things that kept me up until 7 a.m., fearing I would be judged and that I wasn’t “normal.” So where am I going with this? I could go in tons of directions to be honest, since there’s a lot I have to say about the subject but I think the most critical thing I hope people take away from this post is that there is nothing wrong with struggling. There is such a stigma around mental illness and for a lack of better words, it makes me sick to my stomach to witness close friends fight in silence because they fear they don’t matter or that their different. In fact, I say screw you to anyone who’s ever put someone down for having the bravery to be vulnerable; there’s a good chance the words coming out of your mouth have a larger impact than you realize. I’ve witnessed several close friends lose the battle to depression, genuinely believing their friends and family would be better off without them, convinced they’re a burden. Again, while some of you might not understand what this feels like, this is a serious disorder that gets all too frequently swept under the rug. For those of you fighting this sly battle that will always be within reach, it’s important you know I genuinely believe your stronger and wiser than those who might consider your fight to be an “imperfection.” It’s time the stigma behind mental illness be dispelled. You will always matter and you are never alone.