I actually haven’t told a single person about my depression. It’s stupid, but I want to pretend that I’m okay. I do pretty well, wearing a mask and going around with a smile. But just because I’m smiling doesn’t mean I’m okay.

I hate myself; I have for years. I’m not skinny or pretty, I have uncontrollable hair that looks horrible, I hate my glasses. I have no skills; no talent and I’m not what people want in a friend or girlfriend.

I can runaway from social anxiety, I can deal with my autism and OCD, but these thoughts never leave me. And after a long day of pretending, I’m so tired. When the weekend hits, I can’t get up, I’m just so done.

As usual, there are good and bad days. Sometimes, I’m actually okay, I can work hard, focus and go home feeling alive. Then there are days were school is a trial and I sleep for up to 10 hours. I get moody, I eat too much or eat too little, I cry and I sleep for way too long. On bad days, all I can think about is how much it would benefit others if I was dead.

It’s hard living with these thoughts. I have no value, there isn’t a question in my head that I’m worthless. And then I go around, hearing how my friends like me and how valuable I am at home or church. All I can think about is that I’ve tricked them into believing I’m a good person.

Depression is different in every person. My mom and another brother, Adrian, also have depression. My mom hides it well, hiding in comments about how much she hates herself. Adrian hides with jokes, laughing away all the comments. Both have wanted to die, Adrian actually really considering how he would die.

But they don’t seem depressed. My mom has school, she works, goes to church and babysits a kid. Adrian goes to school, goes to friends every weekend, has had relationships and has moved out of the house. They are so successful; it shocks people to hear how my mom is suffering.

I have no reason to feel this way. I have friends, a good family, job opportunities and a good life. Yet, I feel horrible, I hate who I am, how I treat people; basically, my whole existence. Then of course, I feel bad that I’m complaining about so many minimal things. There is nothing wrong with me, yet I feel like I should die.

It’s funny, I can’t tell anyone in real life how I feel, yet I can tell strangers all over the world my innermost thoughts.