When my mother first found out I was depressed, she felt a mixture of shock, sadness, and pride. She was shocked that I was, well, depressed, she was sad that I was going through a rough time, and she was proud that I could admit I wasn’t okay.

Depression and other mental illnesses have run in my family for generations, but I’m the first to openly talk about it, let alone seek treatment. I was raised in Hong Kong and grew up learning that mental illnesses are something to be ashamed of. In my culture, people who seek help with these problems are stigmatized; expressing one’s feelings is an indication of weakness. Parents fear that if their child has a mental illness, it will ruin the image of their lineage. Other parents want to protect their children and worry that they will face discrimination if they are open about their struggles.

I first heard the term “mental illness” in junior high when two of my classmates developed anorexia. At first I thought it was something that only happened to those who were weak. But I was wrong. Mental illness doesn’t discriminate.

I fell into a depression when I was 14, and my anxiety started to consume me. Depression made me want to curl up in a ball and stay in bed all day. There were days when I just couldn’t get up in the morning, let alone go to school. There were days when I would skip meals, and others when I would eat everything in sight. I have gone from attention-seeking to under the radar in the span of a couple of hours. Quite honestly, all I wanted to hear was “It’s all going to be okay.”

In my fragile state of mind, it was easy to feel forgotten. The sadness consumed me one thought at a time, and very quickly, I started to believe that I was alone and everyone hated me. I could go on and on about how depression feels, but long story short, the experience was unpleasant and scary.

I did make it through those dark days. I haven’t hurt myself physically since 2014. I am proud to say that I am not my depression, and even though sometimes I don’t feel like it, I am worthy. With therapy, I have learned that I am stronger than my fears. I am still learning how to be alone, but I know that I am making progress.

While continuing my battle against depression, I have spent time wondering how I could help others suffering with mental health issues. I was officially diagnosed with depression and anxiety sophomore year, and while my family, friends, and teachers cared a lot about me and were there to support me, they didn’t know what to do. When I asked for help from adults I admired, some didn’t know what to say: they were shocked or overwhelmed, or even told me to “just get over it,” probably because our society is not willing to talk about it openly.

In my high school, we have campaigns to raise awareness for feminism, sexual assault, LGBT, and just about every other cause you can think of – except mental health. If we want to make a difference – so people can understand the reality of mental illnesses, how to help others, and how to ask for help – we need to start talking about it.

Not everyone is lucky enough to have the support I have. My best friends made me laugh, which helped everything seem a little better when I didn’t want to live another day. My therapist read and responded to my e-mails and texts, ranging from “today really sucks” and “I’m exhausted” to “I think I’ve been happy for some time now,” and would even show up when I had meltdowns (one of the perks of a boarding school where everyone lives on campus). A dorm parent at school, one of my biggest role models, told me about her own experiences and let me cry and rant for hours. They all made me feel that I was important, and that means the world to me.

It is time for us to act on behalf of people with mental illnesses. Mental health is still widely misunderstood, despite recent attempts to raise awareness. President Obama has been trying to make mental health care more accessible through the Affordable Care Act; Canada started an initiative called Bell Let’s Talk to spur discussion about mental health and how to be an ally on social media. Although I applaud these ideas to raise awareness, they aren’t enough.

One in four teens battles mental illness, and the number of depressed and anxious teens is on the rise. I am one of them. I have been made to feel ashamed and weak because of my illness. I don’t want anyone else to feel embarrassed or afraid to ask for help. So please speak up, and let’s talk about mental health and end the stigma.