"You have Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and Bipolar Disorder I."

I'll never forget that feeling of relief while sitting in the psychiatrist office April 20^th, 2019. I wasn't relieved that I had mental illness. That's the last thing anyone wants to be told. I was relieved that all of those years of believing that I would be stuck in this hole forever were finally put to rest. I'm not referring to the hole where you have mental illness and it magically goes away, because that's not the case. Mental illness is something you may have to deal with your whole life, or I have anyway. I'm referring to the hole that I was stuck in when I knew something was wrong with me, but I couldn't grasp on to what it was. I'm referring to the hole that I was stuck in when everyone around me only saw my actions, and they had no idea that I had something pretty dark lingering in my life. I had this illness my whole life and no one around me knew. No family or friends knew.

To be honest, I really didn't know either. I just assumed I was this horrible person, and I had to live with that.

It finally all made sense to me. Once the psychiatrist gave me a diagnosis, it was almost as if my entire life replayed in my head with an explanation beside every conversation, reaction, or fit of rage I've had in my life. Unless you've dealt with mental illness, I don't think anyone understands the weight that was lifted off my shoulders when I finally had answers. Now that I knew, I could take a step towards healing. I could breathe.

That's why I would cry or get angry in elementary school if someone finished their class work before me. I would feel defeated and so behind, and that pushed me over the edge. That's why I would have migraines when I was nervous or experienced high levels of stress or anger. They were bad enough that I had an MRI done to make sure I didn't have a tumor or a bulging vessel that might turn into a brain aneurysm, and they found nothing. That was why I would wake up multiple times a month in middle school and high school and lie to my mom about feeling sick or having a headache so I could miss school. More than likely, I had a test I was nervous for, a presentation that required me to talk in front of the class, or I was scared of intimidation from a classmate. My whole body would shake, my heart would throb, and I would stutter badly enough that I had to stop talking. Let's not forget the episodes of hyperventilating until I fell asleep, and feeling sore the next few days from tensing up in the middle of them. Having an anxiety disorder also means having a horrible memory to the point that I can't even remember something you told me five minutes ago.

That's why I hated asking for extra butter or napkins at a restaurant, because I felt like the waitress would become annoyed at me and go tell her coworkers about me. That's why I couldn't go out with a group of girls to hang out, because I was scared to death someone wouldn't speak to me or I would feel left out. That's why I got into so many fights with my best friend in high school, because if she wasn't with me, I felt abandoned or replaced.

That was why I would automatically think someone was talking about me if they were laughing with someone else. That was why I was constantly doing a 360 just to make sure no one was staring at me. That was why I turned down any guy that wanted to date me in high school. I almost turned down my now husband, the one who I had crushed on for three solid years. That was why I bit my nails, tore the skin off my lips, and picked at every little imperfection on my body until they became infected or scarred. That's why I starved myself down sixty pounds lighter. "They won't look at me if I lose enough weight to be invisible." That was why I would over-analyze every conversation I had with someone. Something as simple as asking me if I wanted to have lunch turned into believing that they pitied me for never going out. That's why I never asked for help. I didn't want to feel vulnerable, because I hated to feel like a burden to anyone. Generalized Anxiety Disorder took a lot of my childhood and most of my adulthood and flipped it upside down. My struggle with OCD and Bipolar Disorder both came as a result of never seeking treatment for my anxiety disorder.

A lot of people place one certain stigma on Obsessive Compulsive Order. "I can't stand my room to be dirty, I'm just so OCD about it." Or they'll say, "I have my closet organized by color and season, I'm definitely OCD." Cleanliness and hyper-organizing is not the solid definition of OCD. Let's just clear that up for anyone who believes that.

For me, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is the last thing I ever expected to be diagnosed with, because I was the one that believed that OCD meant constant cleaning. It explained everything once I finally understood the full diagnosis. That explained why I only counted red cars on my way to town, and would feel defeated if I didn't count up to twenty of them. It explained why I brushed my teeth five to six times a day until my gums were torn up. It explained why I couldn't just wash my face at night without jumping into the shower. It explained why I went through hand sanitizer left and right. That's why it would burn me to my core if the picture above my bed was the slightest bit crooked, or I couldn't touch one faucet handle without touching the other one, too. It was scrubbing one plate in one direction, and not feeling like the next plate was clean unless I scrubbed it in that exact same direction. That's why I wasn't ever able to let someone else clean my house, because I didn't want things misplaced. That's exactly why I could tell if one thing had been touched in the midst of a cluttered room. It explained to me why I would plan out my finances into the next year, and I was the only one allowed to be in control of it. It would explain why I planned out my finances up to three times a day even when they were already done. It explained why I owned so many notebooks and bought countless planners because I couldn't stand the messiness from writing. I experienced an extreme high when I felt in control of anything. The moment I didn't feel in control of anything was when I spiraled into my next struggle with Bipolar Disorder.

Bipolar Disorder isn't easily explained. It's one of those disorders where your mind jumps all over the place, and your mood and actions jump right along with it. Once I felt like I had lost control, I would cycle between these episodes of extreme highs and extreme lows. In better terms, it was either depression or mania. Mood swings, if you will. I was either in bed buried underneath a comforter trying to sleep time away, or I felt as if I were on top of a mountain. It's sleeping way too much, or it's being able to go days on only four hours of sleep a night. It causes these nasty, painful, unbearable thoughts that you fight to get out of your head, but they sneak back in. It is feeling suicidal and being fascinated with death, but not actually wanting to die. It's feeling completely content for a little while, then in the snap of a finger, you're throwing things and screaming. The scary part: you don't realize what just happened until after it already happened. Nine times out of ten, this was caused by the racing thoughts or the loss of control.

It's the tiny pet peeves that normal people have like tapping your pen or smacking, but all they do is echo in your ear until you explode. When you aren't in a rage or a depressive state, you're in this euphoria that most people would die to be in. To someone with Bipolar Disorder, it's an experience that you would die to get out of. It's being loud and obnoxious, and laughing way too much. It's joking about every little thing, and being way too excited when nothing is going on. It's interrupting people without realizing. It's being looked at like you're crazy, but you're convinced you just feel extremely good. High school and after was a really tough time for me when it came to this. I was never able to understand why everyone looked at me they way they did when I was only enjoying myself (or so I thought).

It's spending money excessively just to feel the rush. It's doing very dangerous things just for the thrill of it. It's drinking until you're way past a buzz, but not drunk, just so you can still remember later how good it felt. It's having an excessively high sex drive to the point of scaring your partner, then going into a rage when they don't want it. I know that's too much information, but it's real and it's scary stuff. It's the reality I have lived for over the past ten years. I'll never forget the moment when every sound around me started resonating in my head at once so loudly that I slammed on the brakes on a gravel road with my family in the car. I slammed them hard enough, that everything in the car flew to the front. It took that moment for me to decide I needed help.

I know I referred to everything above in past tense, but this is real to me and I live it every single day just as much as I did from the time I was a child. It's a harsh reality. All of the things normal people find little are the things that someone with mental illnesses can be terrified of. There have been many times I thought my husband and child would be better off if I were gone, which was a motivator in itself to seek the help I needed. I didn't want to consider death. I didn't want to sit at rock bottom anymore. I wanted to be the wife my husband needed, because I knew he was tired of the position he was in with me. I made loving me so hard, but thank God he did. I wanted to be the mom my little girl needed, because I had a lifetime of making sure I didn't miss out on memories with her. I wanted to be the friend I was supposed to be, and I wanted to make sure I was the daughter I promised my Heavenly Father I would be.

I remember sitting in church with my husband the Sunday after I was diagnosed. They preached on God pulling you out of dark situations. Everyone who survived addiction or any kind of illness was able to stand up. I had to sit on the pew without movement, and emotions overwhelmed me. I wanted to be where they were. That's when God wrapped me in this bear hug, and I was overcome with this huge realization.

You don't have to lie in bed and contemplate not waking up, anymore. You don't have to worry when you don't have control, anymore. You don't have to feel defeated because you're not in the same place as someone else, anymore. You don't have to go through this by yourself, anymore. You're getting out of this hole one way or another. It's okay to feel vulnerable and ask for help. I had the hardest time seeking treatment, because I'm prideful. I didn't want to live my life on medicine, because unfortunately, this is something that I might always have to battle. It's okay to take medicine if it means you don't feel like burying yourself. It's okay to take medicine if it means you feel like getting up to play with your baby in the floor again. It's okay to take medicine if it means saving your marriage. One day, I might be able to get a handle on it without medicine. In order to get there, though, I have to do what I can to fix myself now.

I once heard in one of my favorite podcasts that our strength lies in our vulnerability. I've never heard a truer statement in my life. I was once told by a family member I was just "stressed" and nothing was wrong with me. I was once told by a friend I was "just being dramatic." It was my turn to decide they were wrong, because I knew I was worth more than putting myself in a corner after running hot, and only fixing myself after the batteries died. I needed this now.

You are strong for asking for help. You are strong for admitting that something is going on that you can't go through by yourself. Mental illness is not who you are, and you are not inferior just because you have a mental illness. Society needs to stop stigmatizing mental illness, and allow it to be openly discussed and advocated. Our mental health should be just as important as our physical health. Go talk to a psychiatrist, take a day off work, and do whatever you have to if it means healing. Don't push yourself if you need a break, and don't put a hold on seeking help if you need it. You are more important than any job, test, or event in your life. You can't take care of anything around you without taking care of yourself. I am twenty two years old, and it took over ten years for me to finally seek treatment. I don't wallow in it, and I don't feel ashamed for it. If I help one person by sharing my story, then I know I have found my purpose in all of this. This is not the life I had planned for myself. No one ever plans to live with mental illness. But because I took the first step in healing, I don't have to live this way anymore.

You can, too. You are strong, you are beautiful, and you deserve a life without being crippled from mental illness.