I can feel the thudding of my heart in my ears. Simultaneously, I open my eyes and unclench my jaw. My fingertips tickle my dusty blue sheets until at last, they slide across the screen of my phone. 4:45 a.m. Why the hell am I awake when my first class today isn't until one? The screen of my phone gives off just enough light for me to see my pink and blue planner spread across my desk.

Suddenly, my body has lost control of itself and I realize that I am now flipping the pages to find the calendar for December.

Monday

Class @ 1, movie screening

Group Project Meeting, 7-9

Tuesday

Community Mediation, final presentation/final paper due

GHS, prepare for discussion of reading

Interpersonal Communication, discussion of semester/preparing for final

Spanish, final: oral exam

Wednesday

Class @ 1, movie screening/final review

Article submission due @ 5

Hall Gov. Event 7-9

Thursday

Community Mediation, Community Event Reflections (3) Due

GHS, do reading for discussion/final review

Interpersonal Communication, bring part of take-home final to class for discussion

Spanish, final: written exam

Unit Meeting @ 9

I reread the makeup of each day hoping that if I look hard enough it will all just go away. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my cat calendar hanging on my wall. For a moment I get lost in the intricacies of the wonderfully horrific sweater that Ms. December is wearing. My eyes trail down to the rows of boxes filled with black ink. I rip the shiny paper off the wall and throw it next to the planner on my desk. I am now cross-referencing my weekly planner and monthly calendar verifying that each date and time is correct. But, that just is just not enough.

In seconds my desk has gone from an organized work hub to the victim of perfection. Along the right edge of my desk, I have placed pale yellow sticky notes. Each one has an aggressive reminder.

"MEETING ON MONDAY AT 7 FOR GROUP PROJECT!!!"

"DON'T FORGET TO EDIT PAGES 1-5 BY TUESDAY!!!"

Three exclamation points have become my signature signal of "Get it together!"

I grab a larger, obnoxiously pink pad of sticky notes. On this one, I have written "To Do" followed by a number of checkboxes.

The pounding in my ears trickles down my throat and up to my eyes. My vision begins to blur as the space between my left eyebrow and eyelid flutters. My palms have a touch of moisture to them, and I can hear the heavy inhales and exhales of my breath.

Still. Not. Enough.

I roll my desk chair over to my bookshelf where I find my sketch pad. I flip through pages of doodles until I come across a fresh page. Perfect.

My stress reliever has now shapeshifted into an hour-by-hour break down of the week. Color-coded and all, I have reached complete anxiety mode.

I move back to my bed and open my laptop. With my planner in my left hand, my calendar on my laptop screen, and my phone calendar open in my right hand, my eyes frantically move in a triangle as I check that each day is perfectly aligned.

I close my planner and lock my phone. I open a new tab on my screen to find my email. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. Unlocks phone. Looks at same email. Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. My mind shifts to my grades. I wonder what my GPA will end up being after this semester. Now I am on some college GPA calculator entering every possible combination of grades for the semester.

11 a.m. The ring of my alarm pierces my ears. I roll over to see my laptop still open with about fifteen different tabs open, and a progression of existential questions I thought the Internet could answer.

"What am I going to do with a degree in Peace and Conflict Studies?"

"Will I ever be able to pay off my student loans?"

"Do employers still care about piercings and tattoos in 2017?"

"Can I have a full-time job and be a mom?"

"Do I really want to be a mom, or does society just make me think I want to be a mom?"

"Why aren't men attracted to independent women?"

"Am I dying?"

Not this again.

Yes, I say again because this late-night research spree has become an obsession of mine. My anxiety, like alcohol, has poisoned my body, pushing my body to the point of blacking out. I awake in the morning with no recollection of how the endeavor began or ended.

I sat in class all day, but I could not tell you a single thing I learned. The professor will speak or show a clip from a video, but in my head, there is only static. I can almost hear the pressure of sound entering and exiting my body. I engage in conversation unaware that I am doing so. My professor hands out the review sheet for our final. I jot down notes, but my mind is still trapped in the push and pull of chaos and nonexistence.

When finally I have a moment to myself, I stand in the shower letting the water navigate the hairs of my skin. Water streams down my face (or are perhaps they are tears). I turn the knob further and further to the left until I can see the steam surround me. The air is becoming thick, but the water does not burn. Why won't it burn? I need it to burn. I just want to feel something. Bored with this fight, I turn off the water and barely make it to my bed without passing out. I look at my phone and realize I was in there for over an hour.

I awake in 45 minutes in a complete panic, again. I've yet to touch any of my work, but I am all out of fuel.

In my bed, cold and empty, I let the cycle begin again.

You know they tell you there will be hard days. What they don't tell you is that anxiety and depression come on the sunny days, too. In the moments you should be happy, in the moments you need motivation the most, they suck the blood from your soul.

I don't want your sympathy. I don't want your pity. I guess I just want you to know that every single day there are millions of people experiencing the symptoms of depression and anxiety. While I have come to manage it, there will always be the bad days. And if you are one of those people living each day with the weight of mental illness on your shoulders, know that you are not alone. As finals week is hammering away at your will, know that you will get through this. Every moment of panic, every tear you shed, I am with you. I hear you. I believe in you.