One year ago, I was in the lowest space mentally that I’d ever been. I was desperate and scared and hated myself so very much. I wanted to…not be. There were other things happening in my life that was exacerbating the problem, but I felt entirely, totally alone. I was surrounded by people – my best friend, my husband, people I talked to online, coworkers. I was even seeing my therapist regularly.

But I felt like they’d all be better off without me around.

One year.

If you ask me how I came out of it, I can’t tell you. It wasn’t easy. I got a psychiatrist. I started telling my husband and my best friends about how I felt. I added a second therapist that I started seeing weekly for a while. I focused on work. I focused on my mental health. I made slow and steady and regular changes. I got medicated – well, even more medicated.

I clawed and scraped and scratched and fought through whatever pit I was in. If people weren’t willing to help me up, then I left them behind.

One year.

I told my therapist today, “It’s amazing what one can happen in one year.” When I left her office, the sun was shining, a little breeze in the air, the traffic on the highway was backed up. And I took a picture.  There’s lines in my face, my lipstick is kind of worn off, my eyeshadow is smudged.

One year, and I’m still working on being better and getting better.

One year, and I’m still here.

And I’m actually glad to be here.