Content warning: This story contains descriptions of depression, anxiety and suicidal thoughts.
Mental health is not something people talk about enough. It’s stigmatized in a negative way, and that stigmatization is what makes it “taboo topic.” These are my brutally honest, uncensored recollections of how depression and anxiety affect me. This isn’t to induce pity, nor is this a cry for help. The goal is to give people who don’t have depression or anxiety a perspective of what it’s like.
I always get to the point where I just feel tired. Between fighting myself to physically get out of bed and calming myself down after blowing a single comment out of proportion, I am physically and mentally exhausted. I am fighting my own brain every millisecond of every minute of every Godforsaken day and it is so
God
Damn
Exhausting.
In my experience, that is anxiety and depression. Anxiety and depression aren’t feelings. They are states of being. I never feel depressed or anxious, but rather I am depressed or anxious.
From a scientific perspective — shout out to being a biochemistry major for two years — depression and anxiety are opposites. In the simplest terms, bypassing the chemicals, depression slows everything down while anxiety speeds everything up.
If I had to characterize depression and anxiety, they are two raggedy, filthy, petty haters. They say things that clearly are not true, but still make you react. They hate in different ways, but their goal is ultimately the same:
To ruin my life.
They constantly mock me as I stare at myself in a mirror.
My depression is more blunt and will say things like, ‘Oh, you are too fat.’
My anxiety is more passive-aggressive, so it will say, ‘Are you sure that is something you want to wear?’
They constantly try to tell me I am worthless.
Depression would say: ‘No one cares about you,’ while anxiety would say, ‘Everyone is pretending to like you, you know.’
I either grow numb to the feeling of having my mental stability chipped away or get so used to feeling like shit I don’t notice anymore.
I get to the point, on so many occasions, where I am just so done that I want to die. The never-ending hell that is my life is nothing compared to just
Dying.
My experience with wanting to die comes in the form of casual suicidal thoughts. I don’t know how to describe them other than a voice whispering things like,
You know what would be fun? Falling down a flight of stairs and breaking your neck.
Let’s get hit by a car.
Though I have contemplated ending my life, my anxiety has always stopped me. The thought of living past a suicide attempt and having to face everyone I care about gives me so much anxiety. That anxiety has been enough, in the past, to deter me from ending my life. I guess that is the only thing my anxiety is good for.
Having anxiety and depression is not something I am proud of. They’re not something I like talking about because I am ashamed to have them. Writing this definitely made me sick to my stomach.
However, I did want to share this. Mental health is something that needs to be addressed and talked about. I should not feel ashamed to talk about my depression and anxiety. I should not be pitied for talking about it either. Fighting anxiety and depression is something that makes me stronger than I will ever realize. I have felt broken and beaten by life so many times, but the fact that I am still here makes me feel
Undefeated.
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