On Christmas Day when I was 11 years old, a voice in my head told me over and over to kill myself. I didn't even really understand what it meant, just that it was ruining my happiness. I knew I couldn't tell my mother, so I kept quiet. I then went through some major depression as a teen. I wrote suicide notes and cut myself. When my family found out I self-injured, they laughed and mocked me.

My periods of uncontrollable rage at age 17 made my boyfriend encourage me to see a doctor. I tried an anti-depressant, which induced rapid cycling. From there I was given a questionnaire and a "diagnosis" of a mood disorder. I was prescribed Seroquel, which I stopped taking because the dose was too high and causing bad side effects. At age 18 I was experiencing symptoms of paranoia but I didn't tell my counselor. I didn't even realize I was having symptoms until years later. I was in counseling for depression when I experienced a mixed episode. I saw the pdoc on campus and was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.