What I wish people would understand is that people with depression don’t need messages of “it gets better,” sometimes, we just need someone to listen.
Can’t let him see the truth. Brave face. Smiling bride. He can see it. My fear. My doubt. Fuck.
That’s courage, and people with anxiety have it in truckloads. They’re strong, intelligent and sensitive — they’ll be as sensitive to you and what you need as they are to their environment.
I know that it’s disheartening to keep going when you’ve been stuck in the same situation for what feels like thousands of years, but you have to know that most of the time (not even sometimes), the only way out is through.
Like so many others who have sailed those dark seas, I was actually ashamed of it. Hopeless, but not helpless, as I so fiercely believed. Overwhelming, internal agony. The cleanest dirty little secret I’ve ever kept.
I’m sorry if you thought this would be another article beautifully describing a mental illness. Unfortunately, it’s not beautiful and it doesn’t deserve the lengthy description most people are artistically gifting it.
I urge you to make a conscious effort to keep your mind off work and give your 110% to your relaxation and play.
There are just way too many factors that can be affecting the way a person feels. Maybe one of a guy’s neurotransmitters has gone wonky, or maybe there’s an external trigger to his distress, or maybe it’s tied to his insomnia or another pre-existing condition. So perseverance is key.
“I feel really uninspired with my life,” I said to Ms. Salvatore, straight faced after class.
I don’t have anxiety, but I burn, and I burn hot and fast until I crumple down like my nails.