When I was 16 years old, I moved to a different state with my family, and that's kind of when I started to feel differently. My emotions were all over the place, and I didn't know why. I had just turned 17 years old. I remember I was having another down day of "I don't know what's happening," and I just remember genuine, just frustration. And so I saw, I think it was scissors on my dresser. So I just cut once. And then it is this big stress relief of--you know where pain is going. And so after that, I kept doing it a lot. I actually have a scar here. This is the only one that I've done where people can see it, just because it was an impromptu moment and I was like, "I have to do it now." And then it got to a point where it was just habit. I had to do it every day. And if I didn't, my whole day was ruined. So it's kind of strange the way that those things that we consider so taboo can become such a huge part of your life. And it makes it worse that it's taboo, because then who's going to talk about it? And you can't go to anybody to talk about it, you know? It makes you even more secluded from everybody else because nobody is willing to say anything. And I think that was one of the hardest parts for me. I couldn't tell anyone.

And with the eating, I think that it was just something that I could control. I knew what was happening when I wasn't or was eating. I knew what I was feeling when I wasn't or was eating. And since I didn't know what was going on the rest of my life with my feelings, at least that was something that I knew how to control, as well with the self-harming. So it helped temporarily, but in the long run, it doesn't do you any good. So that's kind of how those started to develop and how I coped with those darker, no-light situations.

When I'm in those dark, down kind of times, the best way that I think I can explain it is like standing on the edge of a roof where I don't know, really, what's going to happen, or if the wind blows too hard, where I'm going to go or if I'm going to be safe. And it's just kind of terrifying. And everything just feels like it's in a fog. You can't see anything beyond just a couple feet in front of you, and you don't know what's coming. When I'm in those high moments, I'm on top of the world, and I think I'm super cool. And I can do anything, and my dreams get really big. And I do really well in school, and I'm just super social. And then, I think, in those moments--even though it is a chemical thing and it is a physical reaction to chemicals in my mind--I think that Satan does take those opportunities to be like, "Oh, this is great, and you are doing so well. But look at what you did. And look at who you really are, because look at those actions you've taken. Look at the destruction you've made to your body. So that means that you're no one." But the highs at the time, I mean, they feel good. I bought a ticket to Italy in one day, just because I wanted to. On one of my highs, I just think that I can do anything, anytime. And it's fun, but at the same time, you know it's not going to last long. So it can get hard even when you're happy. It wasn't until I was 21--it was 5 years later--that I started to figure out why I was feeling those things. I kept to myself. I didn't tell my friends anything. I hadn't talked to anyone about it. I felt ashamed and embarrassed, and I didn't know why, which scared me more because it was just a weird thing to talk to somebody about. And in 2013, in the fall, my parents approached me and asked, "What was going on, and how are you feeling?" And I didn't want to hurt them or make them feel like it was their fault or anything like that, so I usually avoided it. But I think it just got to a point where I was like, "I'm done. I want to be happy, and I want to know what's happening, more than anything. I just want to know why." So I told my mom, and then I started seeing a therapist and then going to see a doctor for medication. And then that's when we found out that I had bipolar disorder. I see this life coach, and everything that she talks about with me through my healing process is about the Atonement and how that applies to my improvement in my everyday life. One of the biggest things that has helped me is trying to gain an eternal perspective, because at the end of the day, these illnesses or these ailments or whatever you want to call them--they are only until we die. And after this, there will be a Resurrection. And there will be this glorious day where I'm going to be so perfect, and it's all going to be so great. And it's through the Atonement that that's possible. You don't really have an option to be just in the audience when you have mental illness. You have to be the one in the forefront with the Savior, doing it side by side, because He's the only one who can help you. Professionals are great, and family is great, and having a huge support system is absolutely crucial. But at the end of the day, only the Savior knows. Through when I'm in my darker times, what I say most, over and over every day--I have a little Post-it in my car, and it says, "I am safe with my Savior." Or I have another one that says, "I have a powerful Savior." And so it's things like that that you just have to remind yourself that you're not alone. Obviously, He's felt these things. He's sacrificed Himself and given us the gift of the Atonement. And so if I don't use it in trying to make myself better or to improve my every day in any way that I can--I don't want to waste that gift that He's given me. I like to visualize Him next to me a lot, or somewhere in the room, just to make me feel safe. And in those moments, I totally know that it's not just me visualizing that His Spirit's there--that He's there. And through all of this is, He's the number one. He's still my number one. And He's the only one who knows. He's lived through it, or He's atoned for it. He knows. And I've been given this illness or trial, whatever you want to call it, for a reason. I completely believe that it's totally part of my own personal plan of happiness. There's the greater plan of happiness, and then there's little Cassidy's plan of happiness. And as strange as it feels sometimes--and I really don't believe it sometimes when I'm in my downs, or I'm just like, "There's no way that this could be beneficial to my eternal growth. There's no way"--but it is. And He's totally aware, and it was in Heavenly Father's plan when I came here. He could have prevented it. He could have stopped it, but He didn't. And so I think that that's a gift that He's given me, that I get to be aware at all times of where He is and who He is, just by trying to get better. It's absolutely easier now to pop out of those depressive modes. Through my therapy and life coaching, I've been taught to recognize truth quicker--that little--Satan's side kicks are just rude, and they're going to tell you all these things that aren't true, especially with my self-esteem, saying, "Oh, you have bipolar disorder or an eating disorder, so you're just so far below everyone else." And so I've been able to get the tool to recognize truth and say that's a lie. There's no way Heavenly Father would want that to happen to me. I recognize light a lot quicker. I've become more sensitive to the difference between light and dark. And now my spirit craves light. I know that if I don't read my scriptures, if I'm not feasting on words, if I'm not completely involved in my spiritual growth, that this darkness can take over me so much quicker than, I think, normal people would be able to, just because I have this tendency to go down already. So in recognizing light and truth, I think, are the greatest tools to quickly make sure that you aren't standing on the edge of that roof, wanting to jump, but to go back and make sure that you're safe, because I am safe with my Savior. Genuine joys that I feel are strictly from finding truth, pure truth. The temple is somewhere where, even if I'm having a really down day, I can go and immediately it's gone. Feasting in the words of the scriptures, looking to examples of other strong men and women that I know have had struggles. Or even if I don't know what their struggles are, just looking at them and being able to feel that they're strong, that gives me hope and joy, knowing that I can be there too. People are always surprised when I tell them, or they find out, that I have bipolar disorder or that I've had an eating disorder or that I've self-harmed. I think our outward appearances can be deceptive. No one is exempt from any type of pain or influence of darkness, but it does make a difference. And even though you seem like you're happy, you may not be. You never know what people are going through. You can see the scars on their body, but you can't see the scars on their spirit. And so I don't think it's ever necessary to compare yourself to others when you're unsure of what they're going through, too.