When I am depressed, I tend to avoid reading about other people’s symptoms, because it is usually too painful or hits too close to home. Even though I know so many of us feel the same way, when I am down, I often just want to unplug and not think about the stigma, the pain, and all the other problems that come along with mental illness. However, as if on cue, I will come across stuff like this:

I talk about going to the doctor, being diagnosed and admitting to having a problem as the first steps towards feeling better. I also would be lying, if I said I was okay with my illness. I go through spurts of being exceedingly angry with myself. Mad at my brain. My body. My genetics. But mostly, I am mad at the disease.

With 6.9% of Americans reporting to have suffered a depressive episode in 2012 alone, we shouldn’t be saying things like, “what now all millennials are depressed” or “you just need to think positively more”. Instead, maybe we can research the problems and find a way to help those who need it, become comfortable receiving help. Not doing so, leaves people waiting longer to get better. And for those of us who do get help, it feels like you’ve joined a club so secret, even its members don’t know who’s in the club with them.