Last night at 3:23 am I was startled awake. I shot up and immediately grabbed at my chest. My heart was racing, I was shaking uncontrollably, and I couldn't catch my breath. I knew I wasn't in any danger, but I was beyond terrified. I rolled back and forth in my bed trying to make it go away while tears streamed down my face. I did my best to calm myself, but I knew there was nothing I could do. I knew what it was.

My alarm went off at 7:30 to wake me up for my morning workout. Between 3:23 and 7:30, I never fell back asleep. When I tried to get out of bed I realized my body wasn't the only thing that was exhausted. I knew my dad was expecting me to come downstairs for my morning workout, so I texted him letting him know that I didn't sleep well and would be skipping this one. He came into my room and asked me why I hadn't slept. I mumbled something about not feeling well, so he handed me a pain reliever and urged me to try sleeping again. I placed it under my tongue, pretended to swallow, and laid down.

Anxiety and depression run in my family. I can see how it affects them on a daily basis, and I have watched it paralyze them in ways you couldn't even imagine. They know that I'm susceptible to it, and I think they know that I've experienced some symptoms, but I don't think they know how bad it got (or how bad it gets). Last night wasn't my first attack, and I guarantee it won't be my last.

This past semester was one of the most difficult periods of my life. I had watched my family struggle with mental illness yet, I went through an entire semester unaware that I was depressed. Depression isn't always something that can be marked by one significant event. For me, things just started to add up. Looking back I don't know how I didn't see it sooner. I lost all that weight because honestly I just stopped eating. There would be days where I would nap for 5+ hours and there would be nights where I couldn't keep my eyes closed for longer than 30 minutes. Days just started to blur together. Anxiety attacks didn't just come in the middle of the night, they'd happen after a practice or when I was sitting on the front lawn reading a book.

I never would have realized I was depressed had someone not casually mentioned it to me. I opened my laptop, did a little research and realized all the feelings I was experiencing were symptoms of clinical depression. It never occurred to me what those moments actually were. I didn't know that heart palpitations, uncontrollable shaking, feelings of extreme fear, and shortness of breath were symptoms involved in anxiety attacks. And never did I think the two would affect me until I realized that they almost always went hand in hand.

I don't know why in today's society mental illness is so taboo. I don't know why everyone thinks it's so wrong to admit that they are sick and need help. Depression and anxiety aren't made up illnesses. People don't claim to suffer from depression or anxiety because they are simply looking for attention. All you are made of is a lot of water and some chemicals. Sometimes those chemicals, for any number of reasons, can become unbalanced. When this happens, people get sick. It can cause them to act certain ways, and trust me, that feeling of complete helplessness can be debilitating.

I didn't sleep last night and I lied to my dad about why. Why did I lie? Honestly. I'm humiliated. I am extremely scared to admit to my family and friends that there is something wrong with me that I can't control. I wasn't always like this. I told myself that I would never be like them. I told myself I would never let something in my head paralyze my body, yet last night for hours I lied awake completely overrun by fear.

Someone once told me I was broken, and I believed them. I thought I was damaged. I'm here to tell you something, just because you're broken, it doesn't mean you can't be fixed. I'm here to tell you that it's ok to admit that you need help. I'm here to tell you there is nothing wrong with being broken. For so long, I kept everything to myself because I was so embarrassed to admit that I couldn't handle this on my own. I just didn't realize that by doing that, I was only digging myself a deeper hole. I kept everything bottled up until one day I just couldn't handle it anymore. It wasn't until that day when I finally admitted that I was broken, that someone came to help fix me.

Well it's been a few months since then, and I'll be the first to admit that things aren't fully back to normal yet. Every day things have gotten a little better but some nights, like last night, I still have to deal with the thing that's out of my control. Should I have lied to my dad? No. But after he left for work, I sat on my bottom of my stairs and I cried my eyes out. I was upset with myself for feeling the shame again, but I took care of it. I'm taking care of it again by acknowledging it.

I didn't sleep last night because there is something wrong with me that I can't control, and right now I'm fighting like crazy to fix it. Honestly, I think part of fixing it is acknowledging that it exists. I'm still me, and everyday I feel more and more like myself and that is so exciting. All I'm trying to say right now is it's late, and I didn't sleep last night, so if you're reading this, maybe take the time to try and understand where I'm coming from, because I'm tired. I'm tired of running, I'm tired of hiding, and I'm dang sure tired of not sleeping.

If you're like me, please understand you're not alone. If you're not like me, please understand there are so many people out there around you who may be suffere=ing and are a lot stronger than you think. Good night my friends. Thanks for understanding, I hope you sleep well.