Although I’d never talk about it, in the furthermost, cynical corner of my mind, I didn’t believe that depression was a real disease involving chemical reactions in the brain. I thought it was something someone could “get over” if they just put their mind to it, like I always did.

And then it hit me like a truck during the winter of my senior year of high school: SAD or Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Basically, it’s depression that gets worse when there isn’t as much sunlight or I’m not exposed to it all the time—mostly in the winter.

As cliché as it sounds, I was at the bottom of the darkest, deepest pit you could ever emotionally imagine.

I had no ambition to get up in the morning, I bawled all the time and the littlest things would set tears off. I was irrationally angry and I slept whenever I could, but never felt any more energetic.

It was like sucking up all emotions but sadness and anger into a vacuum.

Worst of all, I didn’t want to sing or hear anyone else do it. Mind you, I was in two choir classes by choice, and normally it was what kept me going in every other class.

Thank heavens for my mom. She started noticing bits and pieces of signs cropping up here and there, and she finally asked me what was going on. As had become customary, I burst into tears.

We went to the doctor, where he had me take a couple of depression quizzes that showed I had a mild case of depression. So we started on an anti-depressant medication, and it was like opening a door to heaven.

I kept learning more about SAD and depression in general, and it changed my outlook on life.

It changed the way I discussed things. In my American Problems class, I became a stern supporter of medication.

The argument that doctors are just throwing medications at people to “fix” them might be true, but the good that they have done warrants doctors at least trying anti-depressants if symptoms of depression are showing.

One thing that it didn’t change was my view of psychiatrists or counselors. At least, not at first. I thought I could get by on my medication and family support.

A year and a half later I went home to work for the summer, and my mom suggested counseling just in passing. I completely balked at the idea. I thought I didn’t need it, especially in the summer when my depression was the lightest.

I finally decided to try it, but was still very wary at my first meeting. In his office awaiting me was the stereotypical leather couch.

I sat at the very edge of the couch for our first meeting with my hands clasped nervously and we just talked. Actually, he asked questions and I answered them. Questions were how he worked through each meeting, because the sessions did continue.

I hated my summer job because all I did each day was sit at a computer and type things. He helped me see that there is nothing I “have” to do in life. My depression had contributed to me feeling trapped in some aspects of my life, and what he said was freeing.

I felt that I had to battle alone with my depression and never let people see what I kept bottled up, but he let me know that to express my feelings is okay, especially when I have a more “down day” with my depression.

And that not only applies to my depression, but to life in general. I don’t have to keep quiet if something is bothering me, no matter what it is. Not that I should air all my grievances or that having depression gives me the right to do so, but I don’t have to hide it, either.

Depression changed my life and not all for the worst. My views about the world completely changed, but it didn’t happen by me finding things out by myself.

There are so many resources to use to get help, and I believe the Lord puts them here for our use.

So if you have a problem like me, it doesn’t mean you don’t have as much faith or that a priesthood blessing will fix it automatically, just like any other disease.

It might be your trial for this life, but it doesn’t mean you have to suffer alone.