Already late to our destination, I took my time getting into the backseat of my mom’s car. I was about 11-years old and I was on my way to compete in a school spelling bee. I had on an outfit that I wasn’t too keen on (turquoise, khaki and glitter, ugh) and to top it off, I was feeling like complete shit. Nothing new at that time, my mood had been in a reoccurring state of somber for a while. My mother, obviously fed up and confused by it, turned around and with a terrifying look on her face screamed, “What is wrong with you?” I can’t remember what I may have done to instigate my mother’s outburst but I’m sure that typical preadolescent growing pains were a contribution. What I didn’t know was how much anxiety and depression played a part. At the time, I didn’t even know what those words meant. It took me about another 7 years, when things had intensified, to figure it out.