Treating mental illnesses as seriously as we do other illnesses is one step towards ending the stigma.
You are loud, and you are persistent. You know how to get under my skin, and you know how to give me goosebumps on every inch of my body. But, I will never let you take full control. I will never let you gain my whole heart.
When anxiety takes over, you may not know it. You may not know the seriousness of it. You may not know it has taken ahold of you. You may think it’s silly. You might even listen to those people, when they tell you it’s not a big deal. You might even listen to them, when they tell you it will go away on it’s own.
Anxiety doesn’t care about how happy we are or what is going on in our lives. It is always there. No matter what we do, no matter where we are, and no matter who we are with, it can happen at any moment. The fear. The shaking. The images that cross our mind at lightning speed. The panic. The twirling of our hair. The need for more oxygen. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
My depression doesn’t define me, or who I am.
We are not any less intelligent than you are. We are not any less mature or put together than you are. We are all the same, except for the fact that we can’t put a bandaid or a cast on our wounds.
As much as possible, I try to look at mental illness as just that – an illness. Not a personality trait. Not a definitive factor. But a health issue that needs to be addressed. A problem that ought to be solved.
Medication is something that many people seem to be against, and although I used to be one of those people, I’m not anymore.
No matter how much society has claimed to be enlightened, people still don’t understand what it is to be depressed, suicidal, anxious, or mentally ill.
Anxiety demands to be heard, despair screams to be felt, my sanity hangs in the balance. Will the monster return for the kill?