A lot of you don't know about this but it's time I talk about it and maybe help someone else. When my fiance' first left me it came off to me like we were only on a break. That wasn't the truth, his intent was to break up with me and so he did.I fought and I fought for him to change his mind and I didn't understand why I wasn't what he wanted anymore.He had just said he loved me over a text that morning before we met up. The point is that 3 years is a long time and this was my first relationship ever and it was so perfect for so long. You don't expect to wake up excited to go to the wedding venue you both picked to book the date and be blindsided by a conversation about needing space and him walking out the door while I cried my eyes out. I won't lie, it messed me up a lot. I am diagnosed with depression and severe anxiety and having something like this happen can't be fixed by your meds only. I felt out of control. I cried everyday for two weeks straight. I couldn't sleep because I couldn't stop crying. I had bad thoughts, worse than ones I had ever had before and it was scary.

"Why wasn't I good enough?"

"Why didn't I do things differently?"

"Did he ever love me?"

"Everyone abandons me..."

This was my first relationship and the first guy I ever let into my heart.

Thought after thought. Replaying memory after memory. I couldn't make my mind stop racing and my mascara from running. It was overwhelming and I had had moments of bad depression and anxiety before but nothing like this. My heart literally hurt and my hands wouldn't stop shaking. It was getting worse. I knew I had to do something different, my thoughts were scaring me.

But wait...this isn't meant to be a depressing post so keep reading.

I talked to one of my closest and oldest friends about what I should do. I prayed about it and then the next day I told my parents my plans before I left and they were nervous but supported me. So on that morning she picked me up with my purple backpack and drove me to the hospital. I had decided that I needed help and I needed serious help. Hospitals and doctors are one of my worst fears so this was a big decision that I had made. My friend stuck by me through the whole process, including me giving blood and almost throwing up because it freaks me out so bad so she deserves a lot of credit. They asked a lot of questions but the one that stood out most was "why are you here?" I had to be honest and not downplay how I felt and what I felt I needed to help me. The psychiatrist decided to admit me and I had consented that I wanted to admit myself.

You see, I had always had mental illnesses since the age of 2 and I never thought I would end up in the psych ward because of them. I never thought my fiance' would leave me either so, there's that. I had researched and asked people I trusted about how this would be for me and my friends and family supported my decision. I was really nervous, I hate hospitals. I was nervous but hopeful. For 5 days I was there getting my medications figured out, talking to a counselor, and talking to other patients but the time alone was the most healing. They put you in a room with blank walls and high ceilings. Any private time you wanted was spent in your room. I learned the most about myself surrounded by those four walls. I drew sketches, did my worksheets the counselor gave me, and read some inspirational books about being strong and getting through things. Not having my phone was the biggest blessing. It was just me and my feelings. I didn't need to worry about anyone else's life but my own. Sometimes it got boring and my thoughts caught up with me but when that happened I could go talk to the nurses or if the counselor was still there she would talk to me and it was nice. They were all nice and they talked to you about things that didn't involve your life, they talked about funny stories and the weather. Making us confront our thoughts but also teaching us how to cope was practiced within the four walls and practice makes you better.

I'm ranting.

My point is they made me know that helping myself and putting myself first isn't selfish. The counselors and nurses made me realize that I need to love myself first and that I can't make someone love me.Being there made me realize that I wasn't completely crazy and that my medication did need adjusted. It made me realize that there are other people who feel the same way. Getting help isn't a cry for attention and it doesn't make you weak. It takes a strong person to march in there and say that you need help. It's brave to try the unknown and to not know the outcome. I'm not embarrassed and I'm not trying to make anyone feel bad for me or blame anyone for how things played out. I just want people to know that it's okay to get help, in fact it's the most courageous action to take.

The view from my window.