Going into my sophomore year of college, things took a turn for the worse. I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew it wasn’t right.

I had people tell me I overthought things all my life. They’d tell me to stop worrying about what other’s think. I knew they were right, but I never could do it. When I moved into my dorm sophomore year, things got worse than just my over-worrying. I’d go to sleep and wake up with a racing heart. I would have palpitations, causing me to gasp for air to try to correct it. My stomach was constantly in knots. I felt the need to take deeper, longer breaths; more than usual.

I knew something was wrong. I went to my mom. She said it was definitely anxiety, as she had had it all her life. She suggested I make an appointment with the doctor.

I hesitated. I figured it was just a phase. As time went on, I realized this wasn't the case. I’d be surrounded by friends and feel so alone because of how my body was feeling. I couldn’t have a good time: I was just worrying. Worrying about the end of the semester that was months away. I was worrying about having to walk into my classes and have everyone stare at me. I was worrying about the fan I had plugged in next to my bed. What if it caught on fire while I was asleep?

It may seem silly to some, but this was my reality. It was more than "just stop worrying". This was my life and I couldn’t stop it.

Finally, my mom made me go to the doctor’s. He prescribed Zoloft. I cried when I got in the car. I was always a healthy girl. Why did I need pills? I wasn’t crazy, or was I? I got the pills and went back to my dorm. I sat there, contemplating my own sanity, making me even more anxious.

My boyfriend was the biggest support for me at this time. He held me when I cried, and told me that it was OK to take medication. He said if it made me feel better, why not? He didn’t have anxiety, but he did everything in his power to help me and try to understand.

After that, I took the pills. It took about two weeks to get used to. The symptoms were still there. Another visit to the doctor, a greater dose of Zoloft. This made me upset again. Why couldn’t I just be normal?

Looking back, I am so grateful for those pills. I'm able to live my life. No longer am I trapped by my beating heart, loss of breath, stomach knots and clammy hands. Of course, my mind still races with anxious thoughts, but the fact the physical symptoms are no longer present is a blessing.

Recently I ran out of my pills, as I'm at school and my pharmacy is back home. For a long time, I wondered if it was just me and not the pills that had changed me. Being off those pills, the symptoms came back. I realized these pills really do help me. From taking my medication, I realized I’m not weak. Just like I would take medicine for the flu, I take medication for my anxiety. The stigma of medication for a mental condition really needs to stop. It was that stigma that had me up in the late hours of the night, crying to my boyfriend that I was crazy. Now, I realize I’m not crazy, I just needed a little help.

It's now the end of my sophomore year and I couldn’t be happier. I'm still with my boyfriend, the sun is shining and I had an amazing school year because I was able to get past my anxiety and live my life.

So, no, my prescription doesn't define me. It's a part of me, but I'm not crazy. I'm Nicole. As long as I’m on this medication, I will always be Nicole and that will never change, no matter what.