Sitting up late at night while every other person you know is sleeping because your head won't stop spinning isn't beautiful. Shutting yourself in your bedroom because you don't want to bother the people you care about with your thoughts that don't make sense isn't courageous. Shaking because the same debilitating thought replays in your mind over and over again with nothing to do to make it stop isn't glamorous. Anxiety, in any form of the word, isn't poetic.

It's being unable to convince yourself to get out of bed in the morning, even though you know you have to, for no reason other than "I can't." It's not being able to put your worries, fears or emotions into words but crying anyway. It's not eating for an extended period of time because you "aren't hungry" when really you have a never-ending sinking feeling in your stomach that makes consuming anything impossible.

There are days that all I want is to go home even though I'm already laying in bed. Some days I make plans with friends and then become too overwhelmed; I'd give anything not to go. Sometimes I feel this overpowering urge to cry, and I have no clue why or what caused it. When I hear someone say that anxiety is cute, I can't help but think that they have no idea what it's like.

One time my friend told me he doesn't understand why I'm stressed all the time or why being around people for an extended period of time exhausts me; he didn't understand because he'd never felt anxiety before. It baffles me to know that there are people out there that don't struggle with anxiety while I'm locked in my apartment not wanting to leave. There are people who go about their day, every day like everything is perfectly fine without the constant fears in the back of their head.

I am grateful for my anxiety. If I didn't have it as badly as I do, I wouldn't be the person I am today. I wouldn't be as strong as I am today. If I'd never had to force myself out of bed in spite of my thoughts or low motivation, cried myself to sleep when the world seemed overpowering, or faced my fears when every ounce of my body was telling me I couldn't do it, I wouldn't be as brave, kind or grown up as I am now. Anxiety has taught me that everyone is struggling with different battles, how to take care of myself and how much I'm capable of handling, and I still reach new limits every day. Anxiety may be hard to deal with, but I've discovered over the years that it's possible to maintain and live a semi-normal life.

So no, anxiety isn't poetic. It's overbearing, suffocating and destructible, but I wouldn't have my life any other way.