To Every Kid Alone in the Dark

I am gasping for air. 

I can barely speak. 

I'm calling my older brother, Armando, and I'm crying and screaming. He’s like, “Bro, relax ... What’s wrong?”

“I’m having a panic attack.” 

And I have no idea why. 

All I know is that it’s 2021, I’m 17 years old, and I’m playing for El Paso Locomotive. On the pitch, I’m living the dream. But, every other day, I’ll lock the door to my room, close the curtains and sit on the bed and cry. I’ll doomscroll in the dark for hours. I’ll stare into the wall, and my mind will spin out of control again. Why am I so unhappy? What is wrong with me? 

Sometimes I’ll play video games with my friends, but that’s just a distraction. My buddies are calling me a vampire. When they invite me out to play soccer, I’ll often just go, "Nah, I’m gonna go to my room."

The crazy part about that period was that, everywhere I looked in El Paso, I had people I could have turned to for help. From the moment I stepped off the plane, the club community welcomed me with open arms. When I met my girlfriend there, her family invited me to their house, as if I was one of them. But I never opened up to anyone. I kept it all inside. Even when I called Armando, my eldest brother, who I’m very close to, I bottled up all my pain and anger. 

I had no idea why I was feeling this way. Actually, I thought my problems were normal. I was never thinking, Oh wow, my mental health really isn’t good. I had just always been like that. As a kid, you don’t fully understand what’s going on behind the surface, you know what I mean? 

That panic attack wasn’t even my first. I’d had another one at the Barcelona Residency Academy in Arizona, where I stayed for about three years before moving to El Paso. When I joined that academy, honestly, I was a troublemaker. I was the class clown. Got suspended from school. Had to spend a whole day at the principal’s office without my phone. At home, I’d argue with my parents. My three siblings are all at least eight years older than me, so I spent a lot of time on my own, feeling lonely and lost. But at the academy, they knew the cure. 

Soccer. 

Whenever I misbehaved, they took away what I loved the most, what I’d left home to pursue. I had to put on my big boy pants. Be on time. Do my own laundry. Thanks to Gwen Brogley, the mom of the residency, and Ged Quinn, the director, I understood that if I wanted a great career, my past behavior wasn’t going to fly. (Thank you, guys. I owe you so much.) I also realized how much I missed my family. How hard my parents had actually worked simply to make sure we had the basics. The farther away I moved, the closer we got.

But yeah, in El Paso, the spiral just continued. My next real attempt at personal growth came once I had moved to Real Salt Lake in 2022, when I applied for a part-time job at Dutch Bros Coffee. No joke. My resume was something like this:

DIEGO LUNA

Professional Soccer Player

Applying for job as: Barista 

For nine months, I was serving espressos and cappuccinos. Taking orders, chitchatting, trying to hold eye contact with strangers. I kept it secret for half a year, because it just felt like my own little thing, but then I started playing more, and some customers began to notice me.

“Hey, aren’t you Diego Luna?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, you’re that guy! You scored a goal last night.”

When I wasn’t in the mood, I’d simply go, “Nah, that’s not me, man.”

They’d leave all like, “I know that was him....” 

Obviously when my teammates found out, the jokes started. I’m super glad I did it, but what I learned at the café didn’t make the doubt and anxiety go away. Playing for Real Salt Lake meant real pressure. I was living on my own for the first time, no roommates, no nothing. Brand new city. Even further away from my family. 

Man, I missed them so much.

The lonelier I got, the more I pushed away the people I love. I used to talk to my parents every week, but then it happened less and less. Armando would text me a paragraph, and some days I’d reply properly, but then the next day I’d just be like, “Yeah, OK.” 

One day, Armando got on me. He said, “Dude, what’s wrong?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I’m here, man. I wanna talk to you. One day you’re giving me an awesome story, and the next day you’re giving me nothing?”

“Ah yeah, well … I’m not feeling so good.” 

“Why?”

“I don’t know man. I’ll figure it out.”

This went on for months. The alarm in my brain should have been ringing, but I was just feeling so … numb. Like this dark cloud was following me. 

Thank God Armando loved me too much to let me get away with it. He called me one day and said, “Diego, something has to change. This isn’t right. We have to try something.”

He mentioned therapy. 

“Therapy?”

“Yeah.”

“Nah. I don’t need that.”

I was too cool, you know? Growing up in a Latino family, you were supposed to handle your emotions by doing something, like playing soccer. Out on the pitch, I was always a fighter, “a dog,” as Pablo Mastroeni likes to say. As a “real man,” I wanted to figure things out on my own.

I’m sad to admit this, but I only began to consider therapy when my mental health started to affect my soccer. At the start of 2024, I wasn’t scoring goals. I wasn’t even starting regularly. Soccer was supposed to be the best part of my day, but on the pitch, my mind was foggy. I had also just become a father. Having a son at 19 was a huge challenge, especially mentally, and I felt like the walls were closing in on me. One day, I simply caved in. I called Armando.

“OK ... let’s try it.”

I reached out to a therapist who had an office down the street from our stadium, and I still remember the feeling I had when I walked over for my first appointment. Terrified. I was sweating just sitting in the waiting room. Then this woman invited me into her office, and it was just like in the movies — a chair for her, a couch for me. 

”Hi, Diego, nice to meet you …” 

”Nice to meet you.”

At first, we talked about what we did. She was an athlete, too — college volleyball. And then ... I don't know how she did it. She just made me feel safe. All of a sudden I was telling her stuff I’d never shared with anyone. I was telling her about all my anger, anxiety and frustration. All the hours I’d spent in my room. Honestly, 98% of it was stuff nobody else had ever heard, just this lady I’d known for 10 minutes. 

I was crying. Sweating through my shirt. 

The emotions I’d bottled up for 20 years all came out in one hour. 

And never once did she go, “Huh ... that’s interesting.” She said, “Diego, I hear you. I understand you. Whatever you say, it’s OK.”

When I left, I still had tears in my eyes. I felt blessed that I had found such a good therapist right away. I called Armando, and my voice was shaking. 

He probably thought I was having another panic attack, you know?

“Armando …….”

“Yeah?” 

“I loved it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t think I have to suffer like this anymore.”

Six days later, I scored my first goal of the season. 

I’d been flying in training all week. I was out of the lineup at the time, but when I sat on the bench that Sunday, I told myself, This is the last time I don’t start. And when I stepped onto the pitch in the second half, I could feel the difference. The air was fresher. My feet were lighter. My mind was clearer. 

I was having fun again. 

Seven months later, I won the MLS Young Player of the Year. 

Gradually, I became the father I wanted to be. My son, Manolo, turned two years old earlier this month, and as a dad, you can’t be angry all the time. You can’t lock yourself in your room all day. Your highs and lows can’t be extreme. You have to be the rock for your family, and I’m finally able to show my son the patience he needs. I’m a better partner, a better son, a better friend. I’m simply a better version of myself. 

I’ve been going to therapy for nearly 18 months now. Some of my anxiety won’t go away even after 50 appointments. I’m still discovering things I had no idea were there. Some of my emotions have an explanation, but others do not — they’re just there. And that’s OK. The key is to find the tools to deal with them.  

Meditation gives me a calmer mind. Journaling gets the worries out of my head. Affirmations remind me to be proud of who I am. 

The more therapy I’ve done, the more I’ve realized I can’t be the only one who would benefit from this kind of help.

There are lots of young people out there dealing with far worse. That’s why I’m so open about my battle with mental health. I want to show that it’s OK to feel down, it’s OK to get help. And actually, it’s pretty special for me to be recognized by the Audi Goals Drive Progress initiative, because I know what a menace I’ve been for most of my life. I’m thrilled that they will contribute $50,000 to the Primary Promise, a mental health facility for Utah's youth. It’s a lot of money. It can change a lot of lives. 

Most people talk about mental health for adults, and that’s important. But I’m proof that young people need help just as much.

I’ve played for three clubs in four states. 

I’ve had a son at 19. 

I can honestly say that, without help, I’d be a lost cause.

Without therapy, I might be one of those names that make people go, “Ah yeah, Diego Luna … What happened to him?”

To be clear, I’m not saying therapy will help everyone with all their problems. This isn’t real magic. All I’m saying is that it has made a big difference in my life. If you can relate to what I’m telling you here, please try it out. Don’t wait. Too many people suffer in silence until their 40s and 50s. It’s not cool to be depressed and “tough.” 

You know what’s actually tough? 

It’s facing your own issues. It’s confronting your deepest fears and traumas. It’s being vulnerable and open with someone you’ve just met. 

It’s taking responsibility for your behavior. 

Getting help is the brave thing to do. 

I’m telling you that as a friend. 

Open the door. Get out of the darkness. 

You don’t have to do this alone.

— Diego

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Audi Goals Drive Progress initiative supports MLS athletes making an impact off the pitch through financial contributions to nonprofit organizations that create sustainable communities, foster equity and inclusion, and enrich the lives of those in need. Through the Audi Goals Drive Progress fund, Audi will be contributing $50,000 to Primary Promise, a mental health facility in association with Intermountain Health in celebration of the work that both the organization and Diego Luna do for their community. For more stories on Audi’s commitment to supporting MLS athletes and their community initiatives, please check out additional content from the “Celebrating Impact” series.