I never thought a fit into the box that was stereotypical anxiety and depression. And that was my first mistake.

The reason it took so long for me to get the help I needed was that I was pushing the problems I was struggling with to the back of my mind. I never thought I had a story to be told. I never thought I "qualified" to have a mental illness.

Now that I have a diagnosis that allows me to register with both the state and my university as a person living with a disability, my entire viewpoint has shifted. You can't see my disability, but that doesn't mean it's not a reality.

More importantly, my reality is MY reality.

People are struggling with things all over the world: sickness, war, famine, political upheaval. You name it, our planet has got it. But too often we demean ourselves, saying we're not worth the time and effort because we compare our own realities to other people's.

I am privileged that I will not go hungry. I am privileged that I am able to get a higher education despite the fact that I am a woman. I am privileged in so many ways, I could probably write a list that goes on for days.

But other people are privileged to not be disabled. Other people are privileged to not have a diagnosed mental illness.

That is my reality.

But there are so many other people who share that same reality, but continue to suffer in silence because they fear that what they're struggling with is not enough to "qualify" them for PTSD or anxiety or depression or bipolar.

That's how negative coping mechanisms develop. That's why people turn to self-harm. That's why people turn to suicide. Because someone or something made them feel so lost, hopeless, and inadequate that pain felt like the only release.

Asking for help is one of the most terrifying things we as humans are asked to do. We want to prove that we are strong, that we can simply push past the worst and keep existing.

Why though would you choose to merely exist when you could live?

Diagnoses can feel crippling. You see other people who are working through recovery and you think, "I'll never make it there. I don't even know what's wrong with me. I'm too afraid to give it a name."

But a diagnosis can also free you. Let's be real: if you're suffering, it's manifesting itself both physically and emotionally. You know what's wrong with you. Odds are, you're just afraid to have someone else say it to you.

You'll tell yourself, "I'm not suffering as much as so-and-so." It doesn't matter if you're suffering any more or any less. The point is you are suffering. And that's more than enough to "qualify" you to deserve help.

When I was first diagnosed with mental health issues by a physician, I felt crippled. And that's when I slipped into just existing. I let the labels "generalized anxiety disorder" and "mild depression" control me. It was almost like my brain told me that, because it turns out that I did fit into the stereotypical box, I should just let that become who I am.

When my diagnosis was reevaluated and I was given the answer I had truly been searching for, I started living again. I took action.

I stopped being scared of medication and therapy. Just like when you have a cold and take medicine to stop your sniffles, I started doing the same thing for the chemical imbalances in my brain.

I finally realized I had a story worth telling, and that I could use that story to make a difference in other people's lives. I became an advocate without really realizing it.

I refuse to see my recovery as anything better or worse than anyone else's. And when people come to me saying that they don't want to bother anyone with their struggles because "everyone is struggling," I do my best to make them believe the same.

What is happening in your reality, the struggles you are facing, are completely valid. And no one can take that away from you. Fight for yourself. And most importantly, tell yourself that you are worth fighting for.