A student’s battle with herself:

In 7th grade I was suffering from chronic headaches. My parents and I thought they were normal for a teenage girl, but then my symptoms became more serious. I started to hallucinate in class, lose sleep because my head would hurt so much, etc. In 8th grade, my neurologist prescribed Propranolol 3 times a day. Propranolol is a medication that treats high blood pressure, heart attacks, and helps with migraines.

At the time, I was your typical happy-and-cute-and-funny-and-innocent-8th-grade girl, so when my doctor mentioned that suicidal thoughts were a possible side effect of this new medication, my parents didn’t think anything of it.

Going into my freshman year of high school, I lost almost all of my 8th grade friends; I didn’t have any classes with them, so I never saw them. I felt lonely, unwanted, and pathetic. That was when I started to notice my sadness. Of course, being the cute and happy girl I was, I didn’t think anything of it. Then when I took a break from MMA, my sadness came back. But yet again, I didn’t think anything of it.

In November of 2014, I noticed I was sad all the time. I truly felt empty. Instead of enjoying my life, I was just going through the motions. At first, I reminded myself that everyone is sad from time to time, but then I found myself praying for death every night before bed. Life no longer felt worth living.

This is when I started counseling with my therapist, and two sessions later I was diagnosed with major clinical depression, three different anxiety disorders, and obsessive compulsive disorder. We decided that the Propranolol, loss of friends, and break of MMA were the causes of my depression. This is because I had nothing to do after school, and I felt like I had no friends; I felt abandoned.

But one day in the shower, it hit me. I no longer cared about my friends, family, school, or anything. I simply wanted to die.

After telling my therapist this, she realized the severity of my illnesses. From then on, I was suicidal for seven straight months. My parents were ordered to lock up the medications, windows, and knives. I wasn’t allowed to be in a room alone for longer than five minutes, out of fear of hurting or killing myself. I sometimes felt helpless to the deathly thoughts that haunted me. I moved out of my room upstairs and into the spare bedroom across the hall from my parents’ room. I missed a total of 18 days in 9th grade because of my countless therapy sessions, doctor appointments, and days off due to my mental instability.

At school, the only two things that kept me going were my grades and my best friend. Schoolwork was an escape from the deathly thoughts that never ceased to haunt me. Getting good grades gave me a sense of accomplishment, like I was worth something. My best friend was the only one at school who understood how serious my condition was, so she made sure I felt loved. She was my rock. I don’t know what I would’ve done without her.

The peak of my depression was towards the end of May. On a scale of one to ten, one being happy and normal, ten being committing suicide the first chance possible, I was a ten for a week straight. I eventually got better over summer, through volunteer work, countless therapy sessions, and a balance of the right medications.

This story might be a lot to swallow. I have depression. Depression isn’t just a bad mood, it’s a chemical imbalance in the brain that can make it impossible to be happy. Millions of people deal with it everyday. Though it can be deadly, it is very treatable.

Today, I am proud to say that I have anxiety, OCD, and occasional clinical depression. These, or any other illnesses, are nothing to be ashamed of. I am proud of my journey, and I don’t know who I’d be without it. With the right treatment, life can be good again. Life can be worth living.

Here I am, Lincoln Ann Luse, happy and healthy.