It was dark and really lonely. I had just experienced the worst event in my entire life, the death of my father. The world was no longer the same. Everything felt cold, dark, and horrible. Even when the sun came out there was something wrong with it. My anxiety was at an all-time high and stopped going to work, stopped hanging out with my friends and I stopped engaging in everyday life. I was a body without a soul, just a piece of flesh breathing and existing, but having no feelings, except numbness to the outside world.

It was the hardest things I had to do, getting help. I thought it was just grief and everyone feels this way. But that wasn't true. My sisters went back to work, started hanging out with their friends, even my mom started getting back into a daily routine. But not me; all I could do was cry and lay perfectly still all day long. Every movement hurt.

The stigma around mental health is such a horrible thing. People nag, pick on and make fun of mental illnesses but it is the purest form of illness there is. My mother kept saying you need to get help, I am worried about you, but I didn't listen. Actually, my exact words were "I don't need therapy I am not crazy" but therapy does not make you crazy.

I had the appointment long before my daddy died. We were going to finally address the anxiety issues I had been dealing with for my entire life, I thought that was a hard conversation to have. Please, that was nothing compared to what followed next. The doctor started asking me about my father's death and at first, I was very tight-lipped, I didn't want to talk about it, I didn't want to even engage with it.

By the end of the appointment I had been diagnosed with GAD or Generalized Anxiety Disorder, no surprise for anyone there, but it explained a lot about the way I think and feel all the time. But the second part of my diagnosis caught me off guard, and it still does when I think about it, I was diagnosed with, Major Depressive Disorder with Anxious Distress.

Depression. The word still rings through my ears when I think about it. But it explained so much. The numbness, the falling into deep pits of despair, the wanting t never move again and just lay there for the rest of my life and let the darkness consume me because it was so much easier than facing the world around me.

I went through three antidepressants until I found the one that woke me from my fog. The first one was horrible. Zoloft left me feeling nauseous all the time, I couldn't eat and there was this constant fog over my body that the professionals call a numbness. Lexapro almost did its job. I started to smile, sing in the car again and was more energetic, but I still had the struggles of getting up and getting moving.

Celexa. The last one, for now. It has been a life changer. Celexa saved my life when I didn't know it needed saving. I smile, I eat, I sing, I go out with my friends, I volunteer to go places when I'm having good weeks I find myself accomplishing more than I ever did, even before my father died.

Celexa has changed my life. My anxiety as at the lowest it has ever been since I was a child, I am not constantly looking over my shoulder. I do still bite my lip and kick my foot up and down, but old habits are hard to stop.

Oh Celexa, if you only knew what you have done for me. The blackness is no longer there. The numbness is no longer there. Sure I still cry but I laugh, and tell jokes and feel other emotions as well. I no longer want to give myself away to the monster that is raging inside my body.

I still have my days, who wouldn't. Sometimes I stay in bed an hour or so longer than need be, but the dark cloudy thoughts are no longer there. It is just finding the motivation to get on with my day that I struggle with now. Maybe Celexa isn't the absolute fix but it gave me my life back. A life I didn't know I was missing until it was gone.

Mental Illness is not a game. Depression is not a joke. Your anxiety does matter. And Celexa saved my life.