I can’t keep track of the days anymore. They seem to all blur together. And with every breath that I take, another day passes.

I have been horrible lately. I’ve discovered a whole new side to the illness that corrupts my brain.  Anxiety is a bitch. Such a phrase, right? You’ve said it in your life at least once. Don’t lie to me, I see right through you. But, it is a reality for me and so many others. It is a god damn bitch. It literally controls everything I do, how I move, how I talk, everything. And in the darkest parts, that demon named depression is still lurking. I always ask what it wants, but it never answers. I think he’s made a home.

It’s funny though, I talk about my issues a lot. I talk about them to quite a bit of people in my life. But, the truth is, I barely tell you what is going on. I will cry for you, and tell you I’m upset, but really inside, I’m going to explode like dynamite. You would’ve never guessed that would you? No. No one ever does. No one ever really takes the time to get to the root. They got tired of digging because I’m not believable. I’m not your typical sick person. Mentally I am. Physically, not really. I mean, behind closed doors, I’m a ghost. I feel like no one wants to listen. although you’re listening. I get that I talk about it a lot, but maybe there’s a secret buried beneath the conversation. Did you ever care to make more sense of what I’m saying? I’m not faking it. I swear on this ridiculous life that I’m trying to live. Oh, you’ve had anxiety before? You’ve felt nervous about something? Sad about something? Has it destroyed every inch of your body for 5 minutes and magically dissolves until it boils again? You’ve been sad? I’ve been dead and alive, somehow at the same time. No, it doesn’t make any sense. Call me crazy. Well, you’d be telling some sort of truth if you did.

Have you ever walked down the street and feared taking that one step that forces you to fall into the crack in the depths of the cement? I have. Many others have. Fearing that someone you love will be hurt or die before you. It’s real. Fear is real. Anxiety is real. My life is real. It’s time for you to understand why I am like I am. I’m real fucked up, on the inside. And I get it that a lot of you reading this have been diagnosed with an illness, but this is my story.

I’m a master hider. I’m the only one who knows the real me, because she’s hidden. She’s not allowed out in public. She’s frightening and unreliable. You can’t understand her. She is disastrous. It’s fine if you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t either, but she forces me to. She doesn’t let me breathe.

What does breathing even mean? Anxiety doesn’t understand. Anxiety doesn’t need to. Anxiety doesn’t care. Anxiety does what anxiety wants to do. Anxiety owns the world.
Why isn’t this classified as real? Why doesn’t it exist to you? How can I fake this? Do you need to see more proof? Let me snap my fingers. Nothing. Real enough for you? Dad, do you understand now? Are you done listening to yourself and ready to hear me?

I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’m so sick of hiding myself because the world doesn’t understand how to deal with a mentally ill person. It’s not hard. Just fucking look. We’re right under your noses.

We’re waiting.

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I'm a 23 year old college student that understand the world. It's not the easiest thing.

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