So, I've been sick.

But this isn't the kind of illness that causes me to cough and sneeze. My hair isn't unbrushed. I'm not shivering from a cold.

I've been mentally ill, which actually sounds like I should be a character in some crazy YA novel, and indeed I feel like I could be.

I've been on my own little roller coaster these last few weeks, but it's not the adventure I would have preferred. It's been dark and scary and something I wouldn't wish on anybody, and wished I didn't have to be at this place, myself.

Now, before I go on further: I understand that talking about these sorts of things is not something a lot of people do, and you might not understand why I am.

Sure, talking about these personal and secret things may open me up to bullying, teasing, and perhaps cause people to look at me a certain way, but I don't care.

These are not things that are accepted and spoken of in today's society easily, and that's stupid, because I've been lucky enough to be surrounded by wise people to explain things to me, but most people don't, and are taught that speaking of tough matters is a crime.

That's idiotic, so I'm going to share my experiences in hope that it might help someone else, because staying silent and unnecessarily secretive about these things isn't going to do much of anything at all.

Alright, now that that's through:

I do indeed suffer from depression, and indeed 'suffering' is the right term for it.

It started a month or so ago, and it was simply a deep painful sadness. I was probably depressed then, too, but it had a cause so there's really nothing I could have done for it besides wait it out.

Though it started from a specific trauma, it has been one thing after another and it's spiraled out of control and  since then I've been somewhere I never even knew existed for me.

Depression runs in my family, so I really can't say I'm surprised, but I always thought I'd be strong enough to handle it, you know? I think we all do. We think "if it were me, I would handle it differently."

But in these crucial, life-changing moments, you seem to forget all the promises you make yourself.

So, I never understood why people would cut themselves. I didn't judge people who did, but I simply was confused by it. I figure it was to get attention? To distract themselves? And I was sort of right about the second one.

But it happened one night, in one second, and the next morning I couldn't remember if it was a nightmare or not. I suppose it was a nightmare, anyway, even if I wasn't asleep.

I assure you, it wasn't something I could wrap my mind around, let alone do myself.

But that's just the thing--it didn't have to make sense.

I'm sure everyone's reasons are different, but for me it was almost like an instinct.

It was like an out of body experience--as if I were watching myself, detached, numb. I didn't care about what I was doing or what would happen afterwards. In that moment I could not sit still unless I acted, rash or not.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am logical. Painfully so. I like to get lost in dreams and stories, but when it comes to life and situations and problems, I am almost robotically realistic about things.

So I was more shocked than anyone when this occurred.

Though, once I did it, I really had to look back at my past to figure out why this would ever became an option, whether I was in my right mind while doing it or not. And it did make some sense.

I remember many times when I was really angry when I was little when I would pull at my hair or hit myself, and maybe this isn't so rare for young children, but I remember it hurting. A lot. And I didn't care, because I was angry.

I told my Mom and family the next day.

This may be surprising for some people, too. When kids do this the typical thing is for them to be silent and brooding--maybe try to handle it themselves, be ashamed or silent about it, and that's when it gets really bad.

But, considering depression runs seriously in my family, my Mom always talked about it very openly and told us that it was something to tell her about and not hide away, no matter how hard it is to say.

And it was incredibly hard to talk about, but I'm still glad I did.

It was good to have support--to not be alone in it, though I can't say that I didn't feel lonely some of the time.

It was better to have someone holding me accountable, in a way--someone to ask "Have you done it again?", and someone that I could say "No," to.

I stopped cutting and when I did get the urge to do it each time I marked myself with a red marker instead of hurting myself. I'd read it online somewhere and honestly never thought much more about it, because at the time I thought I would never be in the situation of needing it, but it really helped when I got that desperate. It might sound stupid, but it's honestly not something that can be explained.

And then it got worse.

I can't exactly say what changed, but it turned into the thought process of "If killing myself didn't go against my beliefs, I would have done it already."

Now this seems like a huge jump from hurting myself just because I was angry or sad to wishing the whole entire world away. Not everyone who cuts themselves is suicidal, believe it or not.

But my reasons aren't: "The world would be better off without me! I don't make a difference! I don't matter!".

I understand that I matter and I understand that I am important to some people. But none of this matters in the least bit when I'm in one of those moods and get to thinking a lot. Nothing at all matters, to be honest.

My reasons aren't "The world doesn't want me", it's "I don't want the world."

Because of my Aspergers, I've always seen the world differently. I see all of the good vividly and sunrises in bright colors and dust floating through the air turns into something beautiful to me and raindrops are like sunshine. But I also see the bad vividly, and of course this is a time when it seems the bad often wins out.

Recently all I see is bad, and all I want is to get away. In these times, it's easy to believe that peace can only come with death. It's simple, you see--living is hard, so stop doing it. All I want is to be rid of my thoughts and what's happening inside my mind, and the scariest part is that this is all something inside of me.

There is no physical evidence of what I'm going through--yes, scars that no one can see, but that's not what I am referring to--there are no wounds from an accident or current events that I can point to and say "this is the cause".

It's literally in my head, and I could think of nothing more fitting for the girl who can't stop thinking.

I stopped marking myself with a red marker when I got the urge to cut myself because if I still did it I would be covered in the marks from head to toe--it was all the time, a constant lingering, and I asked my family to not let me be alone for longer than 10-20 minutes, because if I did I would get to thinking, and that's a very dangerous thing for me right now.

So, obviously, this line of thought is highly alarming and threatening, so Mom called a doctor the next day.

I went and it was really hard, again, to talk about something that was so close to me. Actually I felt absolutely insane. I explained that at first my mood made sense: I would think of some things that had happened and get sad, but they had reasons. I understood this.

But then I explained that something changed. I would watch people walk along the sidewalks and try not to cry. I would stand in the middle of one of the Birthday parties my family hosts at our store, and tell myself to hold it together. To breathe deeply.

Basically, the tiniest, most innocent little things just made me so sad, and I had no idea why.

So two days ago, I was prescribed some medicine to take once a day that should help.

My mom and the doctor discussed this option thoroughly because, of course, it's very dangerous for younger people to be on such serious pills, but it's starting out at an incredibly low dose because of my size, and I'm grateful it's not a huge risk.

Though the medicine does have a few side effects: the actual good part should start after this week or so hopefully, but for now I'm left with a slew of ridiculous things to put up with.

Like tiredness. Oh my GOODNESS, I am so sleepy all the time. It's like the kind of tired when you are trying to stay up all night, and at five in the morning your eyes are literally dropping shut without your permission. It's like that, except all the time. And I'm already a tired person, naturally, so this is just insane.

Also, I've never sleep walked or sleep talked or anything, so last night when I sat up, took a drink of water, laid back down, and woke up, I was officially freaked out. It must be the most disorienting thing I've ever experienced, because I was only watching myself, still basically asleep, as my body moved on its own, and couldn't actually move on my own until I'd laid down again.

There is also a side-effect of suicidal thoughts, much like I've already experienced, so I am under "contract" to tell my mom anytime I find myself going out of my mind like that.

Nothing too serious has happened, thankfully, though I can't say there's been a lot of time for it. I am basically under 24/7 supervision by my family--not because they don't trust me, but because this medicine is doing crazy things to my already twisted brain, and I already know what it feels like to act without fully being there. I'm thankful for this. I can't say I trust my brain, myself.

I've been constantly keeping busy, as I've been told to do--literally I am not allowing myself to sit still and silent for longer than ten minutes. I need to be doing something. Be distracted by something.

But that's just the problem. It's so hard for me to focus on anything. It's hard for me to say stuff properly sometimes and It's impossible for me to read, write, draw... I'm so numb to everything.

At night right before I go to sleep is the worse, which is why I've been watching "My Little Pony" until I literally can't keep my eyes open.

As I said: thinking is dangerous for me, so I am avoiding it at all costs.

Some times are better than others. Sometimes I feel fine--or, close to fine. Something is off, but I'm still able to laugh and such, but then a second later I'll be incredibly fragile, as if I'll fall apart if you speak too loudly. It's a fine line but I think I'm doing good at walking it so far.

The doctor also told me to point out at least ten things that I like about myself everyday, no matter how small, because my self-esteem is like so low it's practically at the center of the world.

I'm supposed to start exercising--anything to get my up and moving. I have to drink these really thick smoothie things to keep me healthy, at least one a day, and I've started filling out this Depression workbook that the Therapist suggested, and it's helped to write out a plan for if I feel the urge to hurt myself.

So that's what I've been doing--keeping busy, though I don't feel like it. Doing simple things that make me happy like watching Teen Wolf, Shugo Chara, listening to Steam Powered Giraffe, playing Kingdom Hearts 2 (except I sobbed when I finished it last week because MY BABIES!), and trying my best to keep a positive spirit.

Today is my fourth day on the medicine, and I'll be sure to keep this blog up-to-date with my process.

So keep me in your thoughts and prayers, because, clearly, I've been more than a little messed up, and I'm just doing my best to get through!

Thanks for reading! (And I'm sorry this post is so long!)