A/N: This is a lot different than what I normally write. This one is a lot more personal for me. Once again I have basically turned a character into myself. I personally have diagnosed clinical depression and I think mental health cannot be talked about enough. Which is why I wrote a whole thing dedicated to it. In full disclaimer: I wrote this based off of my own personal experience (there is a lot of me written into this) with a mental illness and incorporated things based off of what I have dealt with. What worked for me might not work for everyone else.

There is another story that deals with the mental health subject by moulesfrites called The Semicolon Significance. I highly recommend that one, it is beautifully written. Again, can't talk about this enough in my opinion.

Trigger Warning: Pretty in-depth talk of depression and the thoughts that come with it... ie. suicide and inferiority complex.

There were some days that were better than others. These were the ones where Amy felt carefree like she was finally on the uphill climb. Her mind felt light as if she was mentally walking on air. Her intrusive thoughts eluded her on those days. She loved being around her friends, boyfriend, anybody. There was no pressure, she was already smiling on her good days.

Then there were the average days. These types of days took up most of the calendar. It was almost as if she was stagnant, not bad but not great either. Just a weird in-between that left her feeling… meh. There was no simple way for her to describe these types of days because, for the most part, they fit into her regular routine. Her average days were how she lived day to day life.

Did she know that the nagging, pulling, aching feeling in her head was still there? Of course, even on her good days, she could still feel it, that would never go away. However, it was manageable on her average days. She still felt like she had some semblance of control left in her. She could push down those intrusive thoughts, swallow down the self-hatred and loneliness when she was just going on about her day-to-day living.

It's the bad days that are a different story.

Here's the thing about what a "bad day" truly is. It doesn't just disappear when she wakes up the next morning, that is if she managed to get some sleep, it continues. For a week, maybe two. Hell, sometimes they last months.

She dreads the days she wakes up, and there is no light. No spark. When she can't muster the energy to get out of bed. Because, ultimately, she knows where things are heading. It's a downward spiral that is going to stick with her. And she's responsible for pulling herself out—no one else.

She would force herself to get out of bed for the sake of her job, but wouldn't get anything done. Sometimes, Thai food or Pizza over at Sheldon's was all she could eat for the day, even if Penny did pester her for not finishing it. Eating was an accomplishment for her.

She knew her friends noticed, which is why she distanced herself from them when she was in a rut. Or, if she did decide to socialize, most of her comments come across as rude or condescending. It was just easier for her to push her friends away then have to deal with them fighting her back. The "we don't deserve this" or "I'm done, Amy" comments hurt so much more than them just begging for her to talk over text.

They deserved so much better than the little she could offer them. So, she got ahead of the problem and distanced herself without them even having to ask her. She knew that she had forced her presence upon them back when they first met, that Penny was too kind and sweet to tell her to back off. In all honestly, Amy was surprised that Penny and Bernadette hadn't cut her off years ago.

She needed the nagging in the back of her head gone. That she wasn't enough, that she would never be enough. Being alone remedied that, especially on the bad days. Amy didn't feel the itch in her brain that she couldn't scratch when she was on her own because she couldn't bother anyone. She ruined herself instead of ruining everyone around her.

How she wished her friends could understand this particular type of pain. She spent days wishing she could open up and not have them give frivolous advice that she already knew. Having Penny remind her that it wasn't healthy to be alone so much was only preaching to the choir. She already knew that isolation was bad for her condition. But she did it anyway because she found comfort in the solitude. Why couldn't people understand that?

Most days, it took everything from her to not just… give up. But on the especially bad days that turned into bouts, she spent her days wishing she could just slip out of reality. It wasn't that she wanted to end her own life, or that she had even come up with a plan to do so. She simply didn't want to exist.

On bad days she would dwell on the intrusive thoughts for too long, wondering if they were really true. Wondering if Sheldon would be happier with her gone or if her coworkers would be happy to be rid of her. If things escalated, she would start to actually formulate a plan in her head. Because the mental pain was too much. Her brain believed her own existence was a joke, the thoughts of her own death screamed at her like a banshee in the night. It was too much.

Everyone always wondered why she just didn't ask for help, or talk, or do anything to try and feel better. Through years of experience, Amy had learned it was all for naught. Most people didn't know how to actually help, or what to say despite their genuine concern. Others thought that mental pain was not the same as physical pain. Even though some days, Amy couldn't even force herself out of bed because she didn't have the mental dexterity for it. Turning to people who didn't believe in mental illness was a waste of the little energy Amy had left.

She also didn't turn to people because being told that it would get better doesn't help anything. Not when she can't see through the abysmal darkness that was all-consuming and eating away at her. If it was going to get better, it would have already. Because really, she had no reason to have depression. She had a boyfriend and friends who said they cared about her. She had a job and roof over her head. She could afford to feed herself. What gave her the right to be so utterly hopeless and without light in her life.

She didn't. And that was the problem.

The knowledge that she really didn't have a reason for this only made the bad days last longer. Made the average days a little heavier and brought a dark cloud over the good days. The lingering pain and desperation to get out of something she could not escape, tainted every single day of her life.

Many years of trying to convince herself she could do it on her own eventually tugged her further and further down into her personalized hell. The belief that "things would get better" sounded more and more like a lie.

But it was that summer that was the proverbial final nail in the coffin. Sheldon leaving her on a train when things seemed to have finally stabilized in her life. But his had uprooted. Sheldon had felt so unhinged that he could no longer physically stay in California. He distanced himself from his problems to focus on himself and think.

Initially, Amy had thought him a coward. Running away like a child. Until she realized that it only made her a hypocrite considering how much she hid away from her problems. In fact, the hypocrisy extended out further than that.

Amy, while pondering it one night, came to the conclusion that she held everyone to a higher standard than she did herself. No one else was allowed to be weak, only her. No one else could be down or depressed, only her. No one else was allowed to feel what she felt. So, not only had she been neglecting herself by insinuating in her mind that she was alone in her suffering, but she had also discredited everyone else who had a similar experience to her own.

Her boyfriend, who had issues of his own, suffered from the double standard she set upon society. Sheldon needed time and space, that was something Amy could relate to. And while her initial reaction to him leaving had been reasonable, she too deserved a goodbye from him, it was the holding a grudge against him that was not fair. Especially considering that if the tables were turned, she would expect nothing short of support and empathy from her boyfriend.

So, she gave him exactly what she would want if she was the one on the train. She made her stance clear within their friend group that she supported Sheldon's trip and that she would help him out in any way she could.

The train trip also proved to be some kind of catalyst for her. It was a breaking point of sorts that made her realize where she was mentally and how bad things had gotten. While to the outside world she appeared fine, Amy knew that it was a mask she put on to appease society's standards.

She evaluated what she wanted to do that summer. Finally, she decided that it was time to try and get better. Try to dig her way out of that pit. By any means, Amy knew this wouldn't be an easy task. In fact, she knew it would most likely take years before she felt some semblance of peace. After all, her insecurities and delusions about herself and the world were deeply embedded into her. Seeing a therapist or taking medication wouldn't magically make that go away.

But they helped. Her therapist helped her see the world clearer and to see what other people's intentions were. Amy was finally able to have an open and honest conversation with Penny and Bernadette after a few months of therapy. And her girlfriends did the exact opposite of what Amy thought was going to happen. They planted themselves in her corner,… they were nothing but supportive. They surprised her further by not telling her the unhelpful, cliched lines that people had told her in the past.

Things were going well, and Amy began to feel as though she was on an uphill climb. Until Sheldon admitted to filling out the Mars application without telling her. All the fragile progress she had made came crumbling down around her. How could something so trivial bring her down so quickly? Leaving her on a train was one thing, but leaving the planet? That was a whole other ball game.

Amy talked a lot about Sheldon in therapy the weeks following that incident. The Mars application put her into a funk. Gently, her therapist guided her through it, helping her realize things about her relationship with Sheldon without telling her explicitly. Her therapist helped her see Sheldon's perspective as well as her own. Because the problem wasn't just that she couldn't sympathize with Sheldon, it was that she assumed she knew why Sheldon seemed to be in some kind of limbo. Amy believed herself to be fundamentally unlovable, therefore what boyfriend in their right mind would ever want to live with her?

She sold Sheldon short despite him showing a lot of progress with her. Kisses on date night? He was just conceding to her wishes because she would never be able to find anyone else. Making up for the lost dates while he was riding the trains all over the country? He didn't really want to be with her, he'd rather be playing video games.

She told herself lies, and for what? To convince herself of what she already believed? Not that it took much.

Dismantling those falsehoods was a big part of therapy for Amy. And it seemed to be working. Her self-confidence was going up, she was starting to believe in herself. Amy believed when Sheldon told her he loved her. Her work quality was beginning to improve.

She was proud of herself for rebounding from the Mars application rather quickly… but then Sheldon made the Flash comment.

Lies were confirmed in her mind... Sheldon never thought of her...she was unlovable.

Before she could even go to therapy and talk it through, Amy made an off the cuff decision and took a step back from her relationship with Sheldon. Which the very next day turned into a break-up. She couldn't do it anymore, not when her mental state was so fragile.

The first few weeks were some of the darkest days of her life. Easily. Especially when Sheldon was also having a hard time and was projecting his grief as anger. But her? She had never felt more alone.

Leonard and Penny had just gotten married, she didn't want to bother them. Bernadette and Howard were still dealing with the loss of Mrs. Wolowitz. Amy felt like she had nowhere to turn. Her first break up and she was utterly alone. Even though it was technically self-sabotage because she's the one who canceled multiple therapy appointments.

Amy figured that everyone would side with Sheldon; after all, they were his friends first. But after almost 3 weeks of no contact (except for that call on her wedding day), Penny was pounding on her door. Amy broke down almost immediately and nearly collapsed when Penny wrapped her in a hug.

The two women talked for hours. Amy opened up about how she felt most of her progress from therapy was erased in the wake of her and Sheldon's split. How she was reverting back to her old mindset.

"Amy, you're putting up a wall. Your 'old mindset' is where you feel most comfortable. It's like retreating into a cocoon. Shutting yourself off from the world in a place you feel safe. But it's not good for you. I want to help you, sweetie, but you've gotta let me in." Is what Penny had told her.

She reluctantly agreed and started accepting Penny's invitations to social events again. That made the empty feeling inside of her more bearable.

Her time apart from Sheldon was full of mundane days where the time seemed to tick by at a snail's pace. Amy felt like she was going through the motions. Riding the wave of life and just seeing where she ended up. Amy had no energy left in her to control her own outcome.

The few dates she went on helped distract her from missing her ex, but it wasn't enough to distract her from the fact that she was falling again. The slope was too steep, she couldn't climb anymore.

Why was she like this? Why did she have to be like this?

Her therapist was trying to hold her hand and hoist her up so she could continue her climb… continue her battle. But she felt like she was losing again. Her head ached. Her mind and body were exhausted. Every day was a bad day. She couldn't even bring herself to admit to having average days. She wanted one… just one… average day.

"I feel like giving up." She told her therapist one day. This is where things got complicated in her mind and where she always got frustrated. She never knew what she was giving up on. Was she giving up on life? On the battle? Was it just a kind of acceptance that she would have to live her life this way?

She didn't want to die, but she didn't want to live like this anymore.

Ever since she started seeing her therapist, they had been pushing for her to see a physiatrist. To see if medication was the right course of action for her. And for the longest time, Amy protested it. She didn't want the drugs and whatever stigma came with it. She saw how her father was shamed after being put on an anti-depressant. She didn't want it.

But there, at what seemed to be her lowest point, Amy conceded. It wasn't a matter of changing external circumstances anymore. There was something physically wrong with her brain, and no amount of comforting words and hugs was going to change that.

Starting a new medication was daunting for sure. Staring at the little orange bottle in her hand, her name scrawled across the label, she was putting her faith in the rattling blue and white capsules.

Just like when she started therapy, she didn't tell her friends right away. She needed to see if it was going to work first. After a few months of adjusting type and dosage, she finally found something that was taking the edge off. Did it cure her? No. Absolutely not. But it made life bearable again. The highs not so high, and the lows not so low. The itch in her mind was much duller now. The peace she desperately yearned for seemed to be within her grasp… but always just a little out of reach. But that didn't frustrate her nearly as much as before.

When she and Sheldon got back together, she had managed to find a sort of equilibrium. Still, none of her friends knew that she was on medication now, nor did she feel ready to tell them. But she wanted to tell Sheldon, not because she thought he would understand but because full transparency was essential for their relationship to work.

She sat him down just a few days before her birthday and came clean about everything to him. Therapy, medication… all of it. He hadn't been judgmental as she assumed he would be, but he was understanding instead.

They talked about it for a long while. Making promises on how they would do things differently now that they were back together again and had a better understanding of each other. In true Sheldon fashion, he made addendums to the relationship agreement setting their new pacts in stone.

Amy finally felt like she had found some flat ground to walk upon. She wasn't clawing her way out of a pit anymore, nor was she falling into one. And like any rough terrain, it got bumpy at times. She still had her bad days, sometimes bad weeks. But most of the time, it was smooth sailing with her average, perfectly normal days. And the good ones weren't so rare anymore.

She had an army that was constantly by her side. Her therapist continued to work with her, even though the progress was slow. Penny and Bernadette always came prepared with her comfort meals and movie whenever they saw her slipping. Sheldon… always in her ear telling her how proud he was. And all of them never judging when she found herself falling again.

Would the ache and itch in her head ever entirely go away? No, probably not. But there were ways to deal with it. She could improve her quality of life without losing who she was as a person. The medication wasn't a cure-all; neither was the therapy. But to not feel like the world was crumbling around her, was enough for Amy. Yes, she was still insecure. Yes, she still had lows. But they weren't nearly as consuming, she didn't feel like she was being eaten alive.

It was hard for her to accept that she had a mental illness. The symptoms weren't physical. At least for her they weren't. How could you be sick if you can't see it? She was a neurobiologist. She wasn't stupid when it came to matters of the brain, but she wanted to believe something else was the case for herself. But accepting the reality of what was happening, was the key. Getting out of the denial and finally admitting there was something wrong with her.

In the end, though, she got help. She treated something that some people believe to be fake, that others think of as an exaggeration. What others might call sucking it up and getting over it, Amy called it enduring. She wouldn't ever be a survivor, she would live with this for the rest of her life. But to endure something that dark takes a strength you don't know you have until you have no other choice.

On the good, the average and the bad days, she always endured. Because she was not going to let depression be the thing that defines her.

A/N: Talking about it is hard, I understand that. I still don't talk about it as much as I should. But there is help out there. Whether it be from a friend or a family member or even someone on the internet, (I'm shocked at how many people will listen to me) someone will let you talk. You're not alone in this... *much love*