I was a troubled teenager. The depression that I now fight daily took advantage of my teenage hormones and sent me crashing through a downward spiral that I’m amazed I came out of alive. Depression is, by definition, caused by a chemical imbalance in your noggin, which can be caused by problems in your genes, or stressful life events, or both. Depression runs on both sides of my family, so it’s really no surprise that I’ve got it, too. What is surprising is how little it’s talked about; although it’s talked more about today, I had no idea that anyone in my family suffered from depression… until I was suffering, too. I think if families talked about depression like they talk about heart disease or breast cancer running in the family, they would be better equipped to handle it when someone else became depressed.

Still, as little as it’s talked about, a lot of people overuse the term depression. I hear things like, “She’s depressed because she failed her math test,” or, “He’s depressed because he has no one to play with,” all of the time, and it kind of irks me when people use the term so loosely. It’s true that if you have depression, seemingly little things will depress you more, but I feel that our society is prone to jumping to the D word any time someone has a day on the downside. “Depression” or “depressed” should not be a catchphrase.

I think I’ve always had a tinge of depression, but it really peaked — and escalated — when I was fifteen. Previously, it peaked when I was twelve, but I thought I’d overcome it. By the time I or anyone else realized I was in trouble, it was almost too late. I cut to ease the pain I felt inside, and I stopped eating because I thought I should be thinner. I also did both of these things because it gave me control when I felt like I couldn’t control anything going on around or inside me. I constantly felt suicidal, and spent a lot of time devising a plan to end my life.

My poor parents had almost no idea. I had an excellent childhood. I was happy and always smiling. I had problems in school with bullies, but nothing else happened to me that would change me so drastically. My mom and dad found out I was cutting when one of my high school guidance counselors saw my arms and called my mom. I started therapy and Zoloft, but it didn’t help because I didn’t feel comfortable opening up to a stranger I hadn’t chosen and the medication itself just made me feel nothing. I felt nothing when I wanted to feel sad, and nothing when I wanted to feel happy. Feeling nothing was worse than being depressed. Sandy realized I wasn’t eating and called my mom behind my back to tell her because she didn’t know what else to do when I was turning down and picking at foods I loved. My mom went through my room and found my food diary, regular journals, and a bunch of other things that no parent ever wants to find in their child’s room. She and my dad dropped my sister off at Noni’s and Popi’s, and came to get me at work.

Back then, I was working at a record store. When I saw my parents come in and the identical worried expression on their faces, I thought someone had died. When I saw that my sister wasn’t with them, I thought she had died. I told my supervisor I had to leave right away because of a family emergency, and went home with my parents to, I thought, hear the bad news. Instead, I came home to the kitchen table filled with my things.

I didn’t get better overnight, and I still have my days, but I’ve come a long way from that lost girl I once was. I’m proud of how far I’ve come. I’m relatively happy, very healthy (aside from the Mystery Autoimmune Disease), and am finally feeling like I am in charge of my life (and will feel more like that once I get out of these I Can’t Catch a Break twenties).

Casey is very good at putting her depression into words. It’s not an easy thing to explain. I work hard every day to fight it. I can now do it almost on a subconscious level, but I have to constantly check myself and ask myself if what I’m feeling is temporary or permanent. The problem is, I feel everything. I always have. I was a sensitive child and I am a sensitive adult. This gives me an advantage over many people because I am very compassionate because of it. I empathize and sympathize very well with other people, children or adults, and animals. However, it also puts me at a disadvantage because I internalize every insult, every failure, every misstep. I take things very, very to heart. I also feel everything excessively; if I’m happy, I’m very happy, but if I’m sad, I’m very sad. I also feel other people’s things very excessively. I have to work very hard to keep my feelings from overwhelming me.

Unfortunately, I have a habit of shutting off the feelings I don’t want to feel, so if I shut off feelings of sadness, I accidentally also shut off feelings of joy. It’s actually a normal human behavior, and many people do it. Professionals warn against it because it’s impossible to shut off one feeling without shutting off everything else. It’s very hard to learn how to not shut off any feelings, because that means you have to feel the good and the bad. I live in my head a lot and overanalyze things, so I’ve had to learn how to not think about things so much, either. This is also why I can be pretty indecisive, and why my indecision sends me into depression.

I also tend to worry a lot. I’m a worrier by nature, mostly because I’m so introverted and overthink things so much. If there is even a tiny reason to worry, I will. Things that might not be things keep me up at night as I turn them over and over in my head. I’m pretty neurotic. Sometimes it makes me quirky, which can be fun, but for the most part it makes me wish I could flip a switch and get some peace and quiet up in my head. However, it also helps me see the grey areas. I’m not a black and white person at all. I rarely take a direct stand on anything because I can see so much of the in between. I can “argue” with myself all day why something is good and bad at the same time, and still not take a stand. This is why I would be a very bad lawyer, but also why I am compassionate.

Depression is my disease, but it’s not all of me, and it doesn’t make me broken. I think it’s helped me be a better person, and I also think it’s paved the way for a lot of my creativity. I think it’s given me many facets, and while those many facets have also contributed to my depression, it’s not always a bad thing. I’ve come a long way from the mess I once was. Slowly but surely I’ve picked up the pieces and found me, who I really am. I’m able to see that these things that hurt me also help me.

Most importantly, I’m able to love myself despite and because all of these things.