Dear mental illness,
We’ve known each other for a few months now, but not in the best of ways. You have controlled my emotions and taken over my life long before my doctor introduced us. When I was told about you, I was scared. I was scared because you made me someone else, someone I did not know.
Because of you, I cried a lot—some days I still do. You came around without warning, showing up when I least wanted to feel the sadness you carried.
Because of you, I lost me. You were controlling and unforgiving. You made me feel guilty for everything, forcing the tears from my eyes. You made me question the choices I was making, and if I was worthy of the people around me. You made me feel like I was gasping for air while 10 feet underwater.
Thanks to doctors, you’re controlled by little blue pills which to this day make me feel like less than who I am. Because I need these medications to be “normal”, to be myself. I am a part of the 26 percent of people my age who struggle with something like you, and unfortunately, a lot of these people go undiagnosed. They don’t have the little blue pills to make you go away. Because I am lucky enough to have the most supportive and loving friends, family, and boyfriend, you are tolerable. You’ve been muted and only sneak up on me once in a while.
Thanks to you, I’ve become stronger and have learned how to cope. I have learned how ignorant some people are because I “look normal.” Mental illness is more than looks, it’s uncontrollable and can be difficult to navigate.
To everyone else in the 26 percent, you are not alone.
Sincerely,
Me