I kept living my days like that consistently. For a week, I knew what I was experiencing was depression, and I couldn’t stop it. But a day came when I got home from school and I was so furious angry, sad, annoyed, and frustrated. I held my tears in until I got home, and when I finally did, I was about to explode like a bomb.

My face was bright red, and my eyes looked like blood was about to roll out of them like tears. I felt like I was about to burst, so I started hitting and pushing things until I saw a pen. I took a notebook and started writing. As I wrote, I felt calmer, and my anger slowly turned into silent sadness. Tears fell on the pages as I kept writing without end.

After writing my heart out, I felt a sense of relief. I felt lighter. Even though I still cried, I felt much better. I could finally hold it in. I felt like I had someone who understood me without questioning or judging my words. I felt better, and that was when I remembered this quote: “A problem shared is half solved.” Then I thought to myself, “I guess it’s true,” and I smiled. From then on.

My book and pen became my comfort zone. Whenever I felt down, happy, or lonely, I took out my pen and wrote without thinking. Writing became my daily habit my hobby, my best friend, and a place to tell myself that I’m okay. I broke down on paper, I complimented myself, and I expressed all sorts of emotions in my book.

When I looked at the stars at night, I wrote in my book. When I watched the sunset, I wrote in my book. When I was happy, sad, or even when I felt like an empty can, I wrote. When I felt sick, I laughed, cried, and asked questions with my book.

From then on, I started to fight depression step by step until I finally stepped out of my shadow. After experiencing what depression felt like, I felt kind of happy because I got to understand what the emotion truly felt like, and I was able to set myself free from it on my own.

Most importantly, I

 found passion in writing. It didn’t arrive over night, it grew quietly as I kept showing up. Writing became the place where I healed, understood myself, and slowly learned to breathe again. I realized that passion isn’t something you magically find it’s something that finds you when you stay, when you are consistent, when effort is applied and

when you refuse to give up on yourself.