WARNING MY LIFE STORY AHEAD 

Hi, my beautiful, fabulous readers! Dragons_Rose in here! Just call me Rose though. I thought I should probably end with a little note and explanation. And some acknowledgments.

Let's start out with why I wrote this story.

I'm not secret about it, I've had depression since I was a young kid. A lot of things Kate experienced were based on my own nightmares and breakdowns. But I carried a super bubbly, happy, smile everywhere I went. I carried that personality on here too. So much so, that when I told people what went on inside my head, I got the "but you don't look depressed." I mean, even my parents gave that to me. Or the "Well everyone gets depressed now and then." My therapists were confused on how I continued to smile as I talked about every toxic thought that strangled me at night. People laugh awkwardly at how chipper-like I tell people I've already lost a friend to suicide, or that I thought about killing myself.

It's funny too since depression can often be traced in families, and you'll see my mom, my grandpa, my grandma, my two uncles-- all had a mental illness that followed them through their lives. I learned in my psychology class and biology class (both in high school and college) that it can be hereditary/genetic. And that's what it was for me.

It was so hard for people to understand that I've been fighting this darkness for so many years. When I was thirteen, I held a blade over my wrist, ready to end it all. I stopped myself, but I didn't ever start seeking help until my junior year and senior year of high school. I was doing better in therapy, but then I went off to college.

Don't get me wrong, college was great, and I met so many amazing people. It was also when I had one of the biggest relapses I've had. I was at work, ran to the bathroom to cry and I couldn't stop crying. My co-worker came in and tried to calm me down but nothing helped. I took the day off and went back to my dorm. I missed all of my classes, because every moment I was awake, horrible thoughts clawed at my mind and kept the tears flowing. I psychically just couldn't stop sobbing. It was like that for three days straight.

My boyfriend knows I'm depressed, and he's depressed too. And so he knew this was definitely a really bad episode. He had worked with the on-campus therapy in the past, and so he urged me to go and-- well, get some help. Because I had been teetering on this breakdown for months. I've been having small breaks at least every other week.

I listened to him. I went to on-campus therapy and this story began. At first, it was just some draft letters to friends and families explaining my depression and the storm that constantly spiraled in my head. We talked them over in therapy, and my therapist recommended that I talk with a doctor about antidepressants.

I had contemplated them for a couple years, but never really talked to anyone. When I told my dad about the possibility, he was very abrasive about it.

To sort it all out in my mind, this story began. It was a bit of a cathartic piece, let me pour out my fears and thoughts onto the page. I made Kate. This strong hero I always aspired to be. She faced down the embodiment of darkness itself and came out the other side. This well-beloved by everyone character. She was kind of my perfect fodder.

I started to want to write this story for others. I wanted others to know that this is a horrible battle that so many people fight, that probably many of you are fighting too. And I know when it gets so deep, that people take one of two options. They find help or end it all. I already had a friend choose the latter.

I decided to find help. For some of the smallest and stupidest reasons. Because I didn't want to continue disappointing people or bringing others down.

  I've been on antidepressants for a while, and those were the right path for me. It's a slow process. But, little by little, I'm noticing I'm getting better. The voices are just a bit quieter when I go to bed at night.  

My fight may never end. But I wanted others to know that you can find help. And that, sometimes, when you open up about the tangle inside your mind, there are people there for you. Some may not understand, but many, many know how it feels and are empathetic.

I'm still here today because Serena-Daniels was there for me through many breakdowns through high school.

I'm still here today because MelonLord7 drove to my house spring of my high school senior year when I tore up my own arms, just to hold me as I cried.

I'm still here today because DreamingPie was a friend to me through my suicidal years.

I'm still here today because my boyfriend got me to go to therapy.

I'm still writing today because all of you readers remind me that my stories are worth caring for. That what I write makes a difference, even if it's just one person. Books were my greatest comfort during my worst of times, and if I can ever just be a small little stone to make someone feel the tiniest better, then I feel like I've given back just a bit of what I've received.

Big shout out to mahimahi2602 for encouraging me to publish this book, and even continue writing it. It's really hard for me to finish writing things, but I am so glad I finished this. And I can't thank her enough for continuously pushing me, commenting and voting to make sure I didn't suddenly fall back and have this as just another work in my drafts that never see the light of day.

So guys, thank you for reading. For all the support over these years and making me feel just a bit like what I do matters, even if it's just to one person. Then it matters.

And, you probably didn't know I was struggling, but I'm getting better. I can smile and mean it. And I know I'm not the only one who's fought this darkness. So I'm gonna put some put some numbers up. I can't save anyone. I just want to hope I comforted them, just a bit.

Here are international suicide hotlines if you just need to make a call, and you don't know if you have anyone in your life you can tell:

Argentina: +5402234930430

Australia: 131114

Austria: 017133374

Belgium: 106

Bosnia & Herzegovina: 080 05 03 05

Botswana: 3911270

Brazil: 212339191

Canada: 5147234000 (Montreal); 18662773553 (outside Montreal)

Croatia: 014833888

Denmark: +4570201201

Egypt: 7621602

Finland: 010 195 202

France: 0145394000

Germany: 08001810771

Holland: 09000767

Hong Kong: +852 2382 0000

Hungary: 116123

India: 8888817666

Ireland: +4408457909090

Italy: 800860022

Japan: +810352869090

Mexico: 5255102550

New Zealand: 045861048

Norway: +4781533300

Philippines: 028969191

Poland: 5270000

Russia: 0078202577577

Spain: 914590050

South Africa: 0514445691

Sweden: 46317112400

Switzerland: 143

United Kingdom: 08457909090

USA: 18002738255

I love you all, and I wouldn't wish this depression on my worst enemy. So I'm sorry if you are inflicted by this too. But-- cliche as it is, it can be better. It can. But honestly, if I told myself even three years ago that things would be better, I don't think much would've changed. 

I just remember sitting in the doctor's office for antidepressants, so happy that I was trying to get better. That I was doing something about it. That's my closing statements.