I need to get this off of my chest, and I need to do it now. Mental illness is not a beautiful thing. Quite frankly, it is a disaster that can destroy lives. Literally. I cannot name a single beautiful thing about mental illnesses except for the people that they torment. Anxiety and depression have taken over my life, and sometimes I feel like they have changed who I am as a person. And guess what? That is f***ing terrifying, and it is the ugliest thing I have ever had to personally endure in my brief twenty-two years of life. It’s like someone pressing down on your shoulders when you wake up in the morning, trying to get out of bed. It’s like playing the part of yourself in a movie called “Life”, and you can only leave character when you are alone. Or with your therapist. If you have one. It’s pushing away …show more content…
My eyes sting, my lungs sting, my stomach stings, even more so my heart stings. It hurts all over. The judgments are everywhere. It’s not safe, to be honest anymore. I start second guessing myself now. Maybe I am making this up. I want to be making this up. I am making this up. I repeat this in my head a thousand times over. I can’t speak for all, but I think I speak for many. I was not offered this. It was shoved down my throat and forced-fed. It snipped my ankles when I tried to run away. This black beast sleeps in my head and awakens at the most inconvenient hours. Crying makes it weaker, but only temporarily. The monster never really leaves you, even after therapy. It is a battle that I fight every day of my life. And it is not godd*mn beautiful no matter how great I can articulate the feelings. I didn’t choose depression or anxiety. It chose me. It does not discriminate. It has no bias for the wealthy or the poor, the wise or the wicked, the strong or the weak. It sounds cliché, but I don’t know how else to explain it. I am the target of a blind attack. And I fight these attacks every single