The Diary of a Broke, Anxious Woman Living with Depression

As a kid, I never knew. Sadly, mental health does not get covered in schools nearly enough, or at least it didn't when I was there. That's why I never even knew I was plagued with mental illness at such a young age. I just assumed what everyone assumed. I was a weird kid. There was no way I could've known any better.

When mentioned at all, mental illness was the subject of ridicule. If someone had a mental breakdown, they were crazy. Panic attacks seemed so far from being real, like a myth. At the very least, they were a way for someone to get attention. In middle school if you had any problems, people honed in on them and labelled you accordingly.

Long story short, the big reason why I went so long without recognizing the underlying problems I had was due to school. In fear of being torn apart by my fellow peers, I stayed in the background. I was a classic wallflower.

Once I finally did discover my mental illnesses, it was too late to be vocal about them. We stepped into a generation where having anxiety or depression was edgy. If I were to speak out, it would be seen as attention seeking. As a wallflower, that was the last thing I wanted. Being the center of attention was never what I craved.

Instead of saying a word about it to anyone, I chose to remain silent. As I learned, depression and anxiety hits you hard. Everything with a mental illness becomes ten times harder than it needs to be.

It became clear to me: this was something we keep hidden. Our society doesn't like people who aren't capable of fitting into a cookie cutter shape. No one wants to hear about your issues. That's to be tucked away and ignored.

I catapulted into adulthood and started working; it was not a good fit for me. Aren't first jobs supposed to be fun? It wasn't for me. The social anxiety hindered any sort of progress I could have made. Busing tables was difficult when it felt like the entire place had their eyes on you. It was a big company. Fumbling around nervously and jumpy, that wasn't good for business.

For a while, I couldn't pull myself out of bed. I'd lie in my room, wallowing. I reeked of depression. I didn't act like an adult. I couldn't do anything for myself. There was nobody around for me. No friends, no lover, my family didn't get it. Music blared in my ears, the same song for hours. It wasn't enough. I couldn't run away from it.

Anxiety never let up on me. She never left my side, always letting me know what horrible possibilities were probably around the corner for me. She has serious boundary issues. Every step I made, my pal Anxiety was there to voice its opinion. Then Depression would show up. He was a real Debbie Downer.

"You're not good enough," Depression would tell me.

Anxiety chimed in. "Well, what if you aren't good enough?"

"You won't be. That's what I'm saying," Depression retorted.

They would argue like that for hours until I was too exhausted to exist anymore so I'd fall asleep.

Everyone rags on you when you make the mistake of sharing your state of mental health with them. You won't ever want to. They might pick up on your mood, (unlikely,) or they're sick of constant bad energy. So, then you let your guard down and open your mouth about the truth just to hear, "It's all in your head!" Exactly, that's the point of a mental disorder. It's all in your head and unfortunately most times it's all you can hear.

People who don't suffer from any sort of mental illness don't understand what havoc it wreaks upon those of us who do. They make it their personal mission.

"Stop being so anxious."

"Just be happy."

As if I hadn't tried that? Are there honestly people out there who think I enjoy being riddled with these issues? There's nothing special about having any type of mental illness. It's not "cute." I can barely leave the house on my own without a least a week's worth of notice.

It's lonely. Suffering from the constant visit from your deep dark head demons is exhausting and lonely.

There's nothing I'd enjoy more than to be "normal." To have a mental illness is to basically have your own hell on earth.