My 21st birthday has been and gone (and this blog turned 1 without so much as a cheery Tweet) and I’ve just been generally feeling rubbish.

But like, really rubbish – the kind of rubbish that means you don’t really do anything, uncomfortable and tired and sore and with no idea how you ended up in bed, wearing yesterdays clothes, complete with shoes, at 3pm on a Tuesday when you should be at university.

If you’ve been there (or are there right at this moment), I got you, boo. That was me trying to lighten the mood. Did it work?

Trying not to wallow in depression is the main thing. A wise person once said (I think it was a writer for Cosmopolitan, actually) “We don’t wallow in depression. It’s not a bubblebath.” That’s freakishly accurate.

Of course, not wallowing is easier said than done. It’s really easy to go to your local Tesco Metro and buy out the chilled bakery section (chocolate eclairs, am I right?) and hide in your bedroom covered in chocolate and cream.

It’s much harder to join your university dance team, get help from a professional, and spend time with actual real life people, which is what I’m doing.

The dance thing started as a wistful little look back at 11 year old Sally, who could kick her own head and dreamed of being an actress in musicals. It’s quickly become a fabulous excuse to get out of bed, stick one of my old leotards on, and flit about in a sports hall with some lovely people. I go 3 times a week, and I just got onto the competition team!

So – tip 1. Do something physical.

I wrinkled my nose and thought “hell no” the first time a doctor said that to me (and the 6 or 7 times after that) – maybe because they suggested joining a gym or going for a run as a way to get my endorphins going. “Gym” is a swear word in Sally-land, and the only time I run is if I’m about to miss the bus, or see a moth.

Just do something – preferably something you’ve paid for, so you have to go (sneaky little tip there from the queen of cheap).

Tip 2. Talk about it!

It’s so easy to convince yourself that actually yes, you’re the most hideous, unworthy and repulsive creature on the planet and it would be best for everyone if you never showed your face in public ever again. If you voiced those fears to another person, what would they tell you?

That you’re a bit daft, probably. That you’re super pretty, and lovely, and fun, and clever, and that they literally need you to go to university that day because you’re in their group for a project and you have the Powerpoint on your memory stick.

I now see a fairly wonderful counsellor/therapist/doctor/whatever you want to call it once a fortnight. She’s pretty cool. She gives me little worksheets to have a look at, and last week we drew buckets for, like, 20 minutes.

Granted, it took over 5 months for a space for me to get this help, but that just hammers home to me the amount of people who need this service. It’s very sad.

So tell people that you’re struggling, and let them know why. Problems with your mental health are nothing to be ashamed about!

If you’re still in education, let your teachers know. In college, I confided in my favourite teacher, who made sure I felt happy and supported, and he brought the class biscuits but always let me have the Bourbons.  He passed away earlier this year, and I still think about him a lot.

My final tip is this: look forward.

Depression is mean. It’s cruel and awful and completely ridiculous. I find myself waking up crying; re-living the worst parts of my life over and over again in my own head, and actually believing the stuff that my subconscious is telling me. It sometimes takes me over an hour to make a sandwich.

But I’ve got a lot of stuff to focus on, and a lot of stuff to do. University, work, my future in general (which as a 21 year old, is terrifying, and I don’t actually want to think about it just yet). I want to open my own performing arts school. I’m doing a teacher training course next year. I get to stay in London by myself for two whole weeks. I still haven’t seen Matilda in the West End. I haven’t found “the pair” of skinny jeans yet. You know, really important stuff.

Make a list of everything you want to do – even silly stuff like mine. How easily could you accomplish all of them if you got out of bed, got dressed and actually left the house?

I know it’s scary. But we can do it.