I was down a lot of the time when I was a teenager for a combination of reasons (overbearing parents, stupid teenage drama, etc.). When I left for my freshman year of college I thought that everything was going to be shiny and new, and I could finally start living my life.
All was well for a month or so and then I started feeling down again and I could not figure out why. I felt progressively worse and worse over the next few weeks, until I stopped caring whether I lived or died. Not suicidal but in a "if a car hit me right now I wouldn't care" kind of way.
Once I started feeling like that I knew I needed to get help. It took me three days to make that initial appointment because I was so nervous to ask for help. Eventually I did make it and when I went in the psychiatrist prescribed me Prozac. I started taking it and I felt so much better. I didn't want to die anymore, I could do my homework, and I could eat again.
Thats how it went on until November. For context, my freshman year I drank like a fish. I drank a lot. So I went to this party and of course I get wasted. I met a guy and I agreed to go home with him, and on the way back to his place I changed my mind because I was too drunk and I wanted to go home. He tried to change my mind and I kept saying no so he raped me.
The next day I was in shock.I told my friends what happened and they were very supportive and tried to cheer me up. It worked for awhile until I was at my dorm that night. Once I was alone I just kept thinking about it and trying to understand it, and I wanted to die. I felt numb and I wasn't sure what I was going to do to myself so I called my friend and she took me to the hospital.
I only stayed for about 8 hours and then they released me. I was no longer on the brink of suicide but I was still extremely depressed. From then on until Christmas break I didn't go to class, I didn't eat hardly at all, and all I did was sleep. I lost 20 pounds by New Years.
When I was home for Christmas break my friends were worried about me so they told my family everything (except the rape) and they made me check into the adult psychiatric ward. I can honestly say that those were the worst three days of my life. I get panic attacks in hospitals now because I'm afraid I'm going to be trapped there again.
While I was there they diagnosed me with Bipolar 2 disorder and put me on mood stabilizers along with the antidepressants. I took my meds and I went back to school. I felt numb whenever I was on them though so around summer I stopped taking them.
Since then I feel things again, and sometimes I feel a little too much and sometimes I struggle but I'm going day by day. Recovery is a process, not a destination. Its hard but I have to do it.
TL;DR I had mild depression that trauma turned into major depression, and then bipolar disorder.