I have lived a pretty wonderful life, I can admit that. I grew up in a beautiful home with a family who loved me, and had hardly a care in the world.  Then I got older and realized the world wasn’t the place I thought it was. It was full of hateful people, and tragedy. Once I hit middle school, I began to notice how people were looking at me, and that these people who hardly even knew me seemed to hate everything I was. I struggled a lot with making myself fit the image that others wanted me to fit. I tried so hard that I ended up losing myself completely, and the only escape i got was through dance. I would go home and cry and cry until all I could do anymore was sleep. Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, my grandma got sick. She was my best friend, and her death was like having the wind knocked out of me every morning after. I knew I was depressed but it didn’t want to admit it; to myself or to my family. You see, I had gotten so good at pretending to be the perfect happy girl next door that everyone believed me. I thought if i could keep the act up for long enough i would believe it too, and that’s exactly what happened. It worked! Well it worked for a while anyway. When i finally came out to my family as bisexual everything changed, I couldn’t hide anymore. My father resents me a little bit I think. I think he feels like I betrayed him, because he raised this perfect daughter who now he finds out is flawed in his eyes. My dad isn’t very supportive about me and my sexuality. I can feel him looking at me different ever since I told him. I was a sophomore in high school when I came out, and I couldn’t understand why, now that I was out, people were looking at me, and talking about just like they did in middle school. I was still putting on the act. I was still the perfect happy girl next door. That didn’t seem to matter anymore. All anyone cared about was that they now had something else to hate. My friends try to help, but they don’t get to see the me that’s depressed, and that’s because there is a part of me that wants them to see me as happy still. It has taken me a long time to admit to myself that I am depressed, mostly because I never thought I had the right to be depressed… I have lived a pretty wonderful life, and I can admit that. I grew up in a beautiful home with a family who loved me, and had hardly a care in the world… but it has finally come time for me to accept my depression, and for me to do something about it.