A little about my journey with Mental illness.

I wanted this to be way more in depth and reflective but I’m writing this on my phone at work in my spare time. I apologize in advance for any brief thoughts.

When I was really young, I used to always be surrounded by friends. I had so many and I always wanted to hangout. Thinking back, I try my hardest to figure out where that went. I was a social butterfly. Always wanting to meet new people and see everyone as much as possible.

Fast forward to the present day and I’m tired. I have trouble being around people for too long. If I’m in a full room, I start to feel the anxiety overcome who I am and who I want to be. I want to make plans, I want to see friends but I don’t have the strength to do it.

When I was a teenager I started to really notice a difference in who I was. My friend groups got smaller, I talked to people less. My dad and I used to fight a lot and I think it took a lot out of me. I didn’t want to be a rebel but I didn’t want to be at home. I started taking prescription drugs to kind of get through the days in a haze but that didn’t last long. I wanted a way to escape the pain that I was feeling emotionally but I didn’t even know where it came from. I just felt so hopeless. I eventually stopped popping pills. I was never the type to get addicted to things. Or so I thought. It’s weird, depression can be your worst enemy but also you’re comfort zone. At the risk of sounding cheesy, I was addicted to being miserable. Anybody who has experienced it can understand.

I moved around a lot when I was younger but never too far from my friends. I just kind of disappeared. At one point, my anxiety and depression overtook me. I dropped out of school and could hardly leave my house without having a panic attack. I ended up spending a year without leaving my apartment much.

Eventually I met a girl, fell In love and found my security again. I was social (with very limited amounts of interaction) and excited to be alive again. Eventually she cheated and we broke up. I didn’t fall back to square one though. I kept going. Some time passed and I met whom I thought was the love of my life. We even were trying to start a family. A miscarriage happened and it destroyed me. This is where I started going down hill. I lost my job and could hardly leave the apartment. I was a mess. We ended up breaking up and I can honestly say I miss this person terribly everyday still.

Almost two years have passed since then. I was medicated for awhile after the miscarriage but the drugs left me feeling so numb that I had to quit. After a year medicated, I chose to leave that behind.

I want to say I’m doing well. I want to say I feel strong and motivated. Sometimes I can say those things. A lot of the time I can’t. I’m finding myself without the energy to do the basic of tasks lately. I go to work and come home and sleep. I don’t have that spark anymore. Lately I’ve been struggling. I’m trying to find myself. I know I’ll be okay, but that doesn’t mean the thoughts don’t scare me from time to time. I’m learning that it’s okay to struggle. Struggling doesn’t mean failure. It’s all about learning. Life is about adapting to our surroundings.

I’m still heartbroken. Over the miscarriage.

I still miss that person more than I could express.

I still cry myself to sleep from loneliness sometimes.

But I know my story isn’t over yet. So I keep adapting. Everything will be okay. As long as I want it to be.

It’s okay to struggle. It’s okay to feel so lost. It’s okay to heal. I believe in every single person out there who doesn’t feel like they’re enough. I believe in everyone who doesn’t want to get out of bed. You can achieve anything. But don’t be afraid to heal.

You’re perfect just the way you are.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.