I encourage you, the reader, to listen to these words with an open heart. This is the realest thing I think I have ever shared and it's hard because i'm still figuring all of this out too. In December of 2016, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. Here's MY truth.

Depression is having sore muscles from laying in bed for so long. Depression is not even having the will to watch Netflix, you just lay there staring at the blank wall. Depression is having a period of time where you don't eat because you simply don't feel hungry. Even if I did feel hungry I'm not sure I would have the energy to chew. But in the same breath I can eat you out of house and home because I also have to make up for these periods of not eating, I guess. I can sleep for days but turn around and have insomnia take over my exhausted bod, sometimes for weeks at a time. My teeth ache from not brushing and my hair is matted and greasy from not showering because getting out of bed to do even these small tasks makes me shut down.

I hear my roommates talking in the other room and I want so badly to be a part of their conversation but then again..no, I don't. I don't want to talk to anyone at all. I used to paint intricate pieces but now all of my art supplies are tucked away in a box underneath my bed because that's the other thing about depression. You stop loving everything you used to love. And I pushed everyone away. I didn't stop loving them, I just lost interest.

Anxiety is sitting in my car for 5 minutes before I even start the car so that I can work up the strength to drive. Anxiety is sitting in my room for an hour before I go out so that I can come up with conversations in my head and be a little more prepared. Anxiety is having trouble breathing because it feels like the world is crushing down on your chest. Tell me, how do you expect me to talk about my demons when they're crushing my lungs? I want someone to lay beside me but then I might have to try to pinpoint one of the things that's swirling in my head and talk about it and even the thought of sharing makes me shut down.

Tell me, how do you expect me to talk about my demons when they're crushing my lungs?

I know my family is going to read this, so I apologize in advance for what I'm about to say. I've tried drowning myself in alcohol to make the feelings go away. I've tried being wild so that I felt at least a little bit in control with what I was feeling. Does that not make sense? It doesn't to me either. I guess by knowing that I was doing something wrong, I could count on the feeling of guilt- and being ready for it was the most normal feeling I've had in a long time. But it didn't work. Nothing works. So staying in bed doing nothing but breathing seems to be all I can accomplish. And even that sometimes feels like a chore. I used to feel everything all at once and I begged for it to stop. But now, all I feel is numb and somehow this is worse...I don't want to kill myself, don't worry. I used to, though. But now I just wait for my medicine to kick in- if it does that day. Some days are worse than others.

I've always been really good with words. I've always known exactly what to say and when to say it. But when I try to convey these things it seems there aren't enough words or maybe just words aren't strong enough. I don't know... The things I've written seem dull in comparison to the battle in my head. The things I've written aren't even 1/16 of what I go through or what I feel.

Nothing about me feels normal. Nothing about any of this feels normal.

But it is. The difference between you and I is that I have to buy my neurotransmitters. The meds I take to make me feel like me again have the same substances that your body makes normally. I've only been doing this for a couple months. I'm not sure what to do or where to go from here. But I think that if I share then maybe I can help someone else to not feel alone. Because you aren't, friend. You have me.