Mum, please don’t read this. I’m ok now.

Before you read you should know there's some kinda heavy stuff in here :)) much love x

There's this thing called smiling depression, where both happiness and depression co-exist. But, happiness isn't really the right word. It's a mask: the smiles, the laughing, the "I'm doing great". Behind the mask is a mind in a deep, dark hole of constant sadness. A mind that screams at you how unworthy you are at every chance it gets. 

It's all around us, in the places you would least expect: Dwayne Johnson, Micheal Phelps, Angelina Jolie. Winston Churchill led his country through World War 2 while battling the disease. When he took the train each day, he had to leave a pillar between the tracks and himself because "a second's action would end everything. A few drops of desperation". 

In the worst way possible, they were some of the most comforting words I had ever read. I stopped running, the thing I loved the most, because I was too afraid of what I might have done. When we went hiking, I'd ask my sister and brother to walk behind me whenever we neighbored a cliff. Little did they know that by doing this they were keeping me alive. Winston knew all too well that a second of desperation would end everything. 

There's these three photos I have from within a matter of days. I'd just got accepted into the colleges of my dreams. My absolute dreams. I was celebrating my friends 18th with all my best mates. But in those same days, I had scribbled these words in my journal in an act of agony and as a last resort.

I was sad. Sadder than I’d ever been. Yet, I had everything in the world an eighteen-year-old girl could possibly want. Two parents still together, a beautiful home, I’d seen the world, and I went to a school that I loved way too much. I'd performed at Disneyland in Paris, stood on the national podium with my best mates and worked alongside some of the world's greatest. It didn't make sense. 

The walks I would take at 3am by myself because sleeping was impossible. My mind yelling at me every second of the day and night how awful I was. I couldn’t think about anything else no matter how hard I tried to distract myself. Hiding in my room and crying all day. All and every day. Pushing my best friends away because I felt like the biggest burden. Sitting in the shower in tears every night, if I made it out of my room. I didn’t want to think about the future. Not even Harvard or Princeton excited me. Thoughts of “why am I here” constantly on my mind. It didn’t even make sense to me. How could one of the luckiest people in the world be so sad. 

I was fine though. Putting on a smile when things get tough is something we are all too good at. It’s such an easy option to just say “I’m great”. 

Until it’s not. 

I went home from uni. For the first time I told the doctor the truth about the thoughts I was having. It was awful. Like an outer-body experience. The real and the sad me trying to fight a battle and uphold my "sha’ll be alright" attitude. But you can’t always win. You can’t be happy all of the time. And sometimes you need help. A little or lot, everyone needs help at some point in their life and this was a time I was just going to have to ask for some.

I remember having a long conversation with my dad (who I never talked about deep shit with) about how common it is. How he felt at times in his life. Things he had never told my mum, and for the first time I realized how much we really suck at not talking about the stuff that goes on in our head. It’s why I'm here writing this down. It's why our suicide rates are way too high. I have seen things and moments where that desperation has been acted upon. It still plays on my mind. People in my life who are so exhausted from battling their thoughts that they only see one way out. And it’s horrible.

I argued with my parents a lot about coming to the States. They were scared. Scared that I wasn't well enough to move across the world. Scared of what could happen if I was in the same state. But I got help. And it was the hardest thing I've ever done. Going into my family doctor and knowing all well that she knew where I came from and all that I had, but sitting and crying to her about how I can't do this anymore. She listened and was incredible. I will forever be grateful for her. 

Now, every time I even think about the sadness in that girl I tear up. I deleted my entire camera roll from those months because they remind me of nothing but sadness, despite appearing so happy and fun. It’s as if I am looking at someone else’s life. Everything is kinda like a blur; it's weird.

I just beg you to just speak. 

Fuck what anyone else thinks. Just let it all out, no matter what is going on. Speak to your best mate, your mum or your cousin. Your doctor, a stranger or your favorite aunt. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you have, shit happens, and illness of the mind is a thing. We can't keep doing things the way we are. It's taking too many lives. 

You are so fucking cool. I hope you know that. 

Things always get better darlin'