There was a time when worries rarely crossed my mind, when I didn’t lay in bed for hours staring at the wall, when failure and thinking about my future didn’t terrify me. There was a time when I never thought to off myself. Things happen, people change. I was only 13 years old when I was diagnosed with clinical depression. And at that time, I didn’t fully understand it, I didn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to take any pills, antidepressants scared me. No one forced me to take them. That first bottle of Lexapro sat in a drawer for about two years. I thought I could/would feel better, that I’d surely get better on my own sooner than later. Sooner never came. I am now 18 years old, and I feel far worse than I did five years ago. Depression grows over time, it gets worse, just like any other disease, It doesn’t just go away.

My Aunt used to tell me “it’s all in your head, just change your way of thinking, be positive!” I couldn’t, I can’t. It’s difficult. Along the way, I have also been diagnosed with an Anxiety disorder and OCD. I’ve seen many therapists over the years, and I still visit one. Last year, I started visiting a Psychiatrist for the first time. He said “your OCD may be a big contributor to your ongoing thoughts, which really brings out your anxiety and depression.” I take pills now. I have become so desperate to feel better that I’ve put my fear of antidepressants to the side. 100 mg of Luvox, an antidepressant that treats depression (obviously), anxiety, and OCD. 50 mg of Anafranil which also aids OCD and is sedative (I take it at night to help me fall asleep). And Melatonin, which is a natural sleep aid. Because of these disorders, I don’t sleep very well, I’ve become an insomniac.

I have asked myself countless times, “why can’t I just be normal?” These illnesses of mine, make daily tasks a struggle. Everyday I wish I could behave normally, free of worries, free from dark thoughts, free to sleep.

I used to love art, I would draw constantly. Unfortunately, that hobby is almost nonexistent now. I don’t draw nearly as much as I used to. I lack the motivation to try, my creativity just won’t work, I suppose you could say I have “artist’s block.” Never did I think Art would become such a struggle for me. It’s very upsetting. Thankfully I manage to keep up my grades at least. This is probably because of my huge fear of being a failure and having an unhappy future. I know I put a lot of unnecessary pressure on myself, I over think and worry far too much, but I just can’t help it. I can’t turn it off.

Have I harmed myself? Only twice, that’s it. Both times I was incredibly angry at myself and believed I deserved some type of punishment I angrily slashed up my left hand, and my left arm. The scars have faded thankfully. I don’t plan on doing it again, it didn’t satisfy me at all, it just made me feel worse and incredibly guilty. I disappointed a few people, and I rather not disappoint them again. It crushed my heart, but I don’t blame them.

I’m officially an adult now, and I fear adulthood more than anything else. I’m afraid of the unknown. When I was younger, I looked forward to the future, and the idea of getting older appealed to me. Now I constantly wish to turn the clock back and relish in my youth a little longer. I never thought I’d have such a problem with growing up, if it wasn’t for my illnesses I bet I wouldn’t have these fears or these problems. I am not at all the person I thought I would be, I feel like I’ve disappointed my younger self. She would have wanted me to be excited and happy right now, just like everyone else. Unfortunately that’s not the case. I have grown to be a pessimistic being, against my own will. Depression and Anxiety have plagued me, I’m a prisoner of my own mind, and I pray for the day that this miserable lifestyle will finally end. Basically, what I’m trying to say is that mental illnesses are not to be taken lightly. They are as real as any other disease.