There were days when the world seemed drained of color. The loud noise of bullying and peer pressure faded, but a heavier, quieter storm took its place inside me. Depression wasn’t a dramatic crash; it was the slow, haunting ache of emptiness that wrapped around my chest. Getting out of bed felt like climbing endless stairs with no energy left.

Anxiety was the relentless ticking clock inside my mind. Simple tasks became mountains—waking up, answering texts, walking into class. My heart raced, my hands trembled, and sometimes the panic was so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. I felt trapped in a place no one could see, isolated in a crowded room.

The worst part was feeling like no one understood. Teachers praised my early achievements, but they didn’t see the smile crafted to hide the storm. Friends stopped asking because I stopped answering. I was sinking, silently, beneath the surface of my own life.

But even in the darkness, small sparks flickered. Sometimes it was the voice of a book, a song that soothed, or a word of kindness from a stranger. It was the decision, made countless times each day, to keep going, one breath, one step, one moment at a time.