I didn't know what was wrong with me.

I was just so tired all the time. No matter how much sleep I got, it didn't make a difference. I'd be sluggish and grumpy and I just could not care less.

I remember reading a book, on my Kindle. I can't remember what it was. It's not there anymore, I don't think. Depression was mentioned, and I began to see the similaries between the main charactor and myself.

I pushed the thought away. I couldn't be depressed. And if I was, then so what? Lots of people were. It wasn't a big issue. I could deal with it, like I always did.

But things got worse. I started crying, all the time. There was this gaping hole in my chest that wouldn't go away. I was scared all the time. Hell, sometimes I had suicidal thoughts. When I was alone, I would go into the kitchen and pick up one of our largest knives. I'd hold it in my hands and look at it and wonder what it would be like. To be gone. Maybe it would be peaceful. Maybe it wouldn't. But either way, surely to God, it had to be better than this?

Recently, I've been taking this more seriously. I don't feel any better, but I'm starting to learn more about it. I've learned that even though it effects a lot of people, it's not something to just be brushed off. I heard someone say that it was as bad as cancer. And they're right.

I've been looking at videos. I've joined here. No one I know knows about me. I plaster on a smile and pretend everything is okay. They believe me, they always do.

I am hoping that by joining this site, I'll get just a little bit braver. A little more open. Maybe one day I'll tell my mum. And maybe it won't be so bad.