Nearly 10% of the US population suffers from depression.

This is her story:

October 9th: my birthday. I hate that day.

I hate my birthday - I hate birthdays full-stop. I hate the pressure and the expectations. I hate that people who are meant to care don't.

Having suffered from depression for years, it's hard to cope with the emotions of a birthday. People who forget my birthday - or don't bother - become arrows that depression uses against me:

Why would they remember? How dare you expect them to? Why would anyone remember? Why do you matter? You don't matter, nobody will ever remember you. You don't deserve to be remembered. Nobody would miss you. It would be easier if you were dead.

Birthdays are the time that the people who care about you are supposed to celebrate with you:

Why are they here? Because they have to? They don't want to be here - they don't even like you. You're annoying. Why would anyone like you? They'd be happier without you in their life. Everyone would be happier if you just weren't. If you were dead.

For me, birthdays are a time to reflect on the year that's gone by. Depression helps this:

Another year - what have you done with it? Nothing, that's what. You haven't achieved anything, you've wasted time and energy - and other people's time and energy. You won't do anything with next year either. It'll be another year of being you. Another year of being annoying. Another year of living with the damages; the problems you live with. Those problems will never go away. You're going to have to live with what's happened to you for the rest of your life. Do you really want that? It would be easier to just stop now - not force yourself to go through that.

This year, I've done my best not to think like that. I've had a lovely day - my housemates arranged a gathering, and we had brownie cake and watched a film. It was really lovely. I enjoyed it very much - I was so appreciative of it all. I really have been very happy.

But.

About two-thirds of the way through the night, I felt miserable and hollow inside. Part it is because I'm an introvert; too many people drain me of energy. Another part is the depression. I found it hard to to get away from the negative thoughts, which wore my mood down.

Part of it is simply the effect birthdays have on me. I need time to be sad and unhappy. I need time to cry. I need time to mourn the child who had to grow up far too quickly; to cry about what I could've been - everything I lost.

I need time to recognise that there are parts of my life which will always suck. No matter how happy I am, I come from damage. Partially, I want to be sad because it’s what I know. I want to be sad because life was unfair. Because only by recognising what I've been through, can I see how far I’ve come. I can stop and think: I made it. Look at what I survived! How many times I've wished I were dead, yet I’m still here.

Yes, I hate my birthdays.

I hate that the day makes me sad and miserable. I hate that other people can’t understand that. I still have urges to cut on my birthday. I still wish I were dead on my birthday. But I am able to acknowledge what I’ve been through, wonder why I'm still here.

Just because I’m sad, doesn’t mean I’m not happy too.