You wanna know the worst part about having anxiety and depression?
It’s the loneliness.
The feeling that no one understands what you’re going through.
Even though others suffer from it too, no one can fully understand it. Because in those moments, when the weight settles on your shoulders, and the brick presses on your chest, and you’re crawling your way to the top of the pool from which you are drowning praying for just one breath of air, just one moment of release, no one understands what it’s like to be you.
You put on a happy face. You smile. You laugh. Because honestly, it’s easier for everyone if you act this way.
Everyone but you.
You can’t blame them for not understanding. They’ve never lived a day inside your head. They don’t understand the struggle it is to “be normal.” They don’t know what it’s like to wake up every day and wonder, will today be a good day, or will the anxiety and depression take over?
I should educate them, you think, help them understand. And you would, except you cannot see beyond the despair and self-loathing.
It’s so isolating.
“It hurts me so much when you say those things, when you act this way,” they say. And you hate yourself even more. Because your disease is causing them pain.
And so you welcome the hurt, the loneliness, and despair. You deserve it, after all. And they deserve so much better than you…
I wish I could go away for a while. Where? I don’t know. But anywhere outside my own skin, beyond the reaches of my own mind, will do.
Nobody wants to be around the depressed girl.
And so I do.
But with each breath I hurt.
And nobody understands.
I’m so alone.
Will anybody really miss me if I go?