A January night in a mildly decorated college dorm room illuminated by a purple sunset lamp. A high school dorm room lit up golden with “Dancing Queen” by ABBA blaring. A childhood bedroom with Princess Tiana, Cinderella, Snow White, and Belle smiling on the sheets. A middle school bathroom during art class. My mother's kitchen. These are all the places where I was going to end my life. I was depressed and we never talked about it. It was a character flaw. Depression was seen an overwhelming reason to avoid someone or a shortcoming on the parent. I was 11 when I first knew something was wrong. I woke up one day not wanting to be alive at all. I didn’t know how to articulate this newfound dread. I smiled through strained muscles, looked with bloodshot eyes, and spoke through my hoarse throat every day. I did try to speak about my experience. There was one day in line, I confessed to my friend. “I don’t want to live,” I said bluntly. There was a brief silence from her and then she responded, “You need Jesus.” The sadness dissipated to this hard numbness in my heart. Maybe I regretted my vulnerability or truly experiencing sadness, because after that moment I vowed to never do it again. Even now at 19, I struggle just like that eleven year old. My peers have their lives planned: 5-year goals, marriage plans, future homes, jobs, and graduate school dreams. No one tells you the impending doom that haunts you after attempting. “What the hell am I going to do now?” No one lets you know what "better" is. No one tells you that it feels like your existence is wrong. Discussing mental health struggles has become something important to me, because it is the most isolating thing to deal with. My words fail to capture how I had to fight myself to survive, but I am still here through the love of a found family. My goal isn’t getting rich—while I would absolutely love to be—but being okay. I could get my dream house, my dream car, my dream life but I would still have the same mind. I hope to become better. I hope to help other people my age become better. In college, I am a neuroscience major and an art studio minor. I hope to aid young children with mental health issues through artistic practices and advocate for better help to children especially in underprivileged communities. I hope to get "better," however it may look. I strive for this by getting up everyday, going to class, and speaking with my friends. I see a world where I am better, and I will fight everyday to live in it.