I couldn’t calm myself down. My mom couldn’t either. So, she called my brother (who was a firefighter at the time) and he hurried over with some of his firefighter friends. They couldn’t calm me down, and the next thing I knew, I was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance.

I had a good life; I was a good kid. But the battle I faced with depression filled me with shame. It was exhausting to pretend I was fine, joyful and the bubbly life of the party when I was really crying myself to sleep several nights a week.