I can't speak on the behalf of everyone who struggles with depression or anxiety because I can only speak for myself and my own experiences. But there are moments when I forget that someone could see my beauty, in ways I never could. Not through appearances or nice clothes, but in the way our brains allow us to hate ourselves and yet love ourselves at the same time.

I know that can be extremely confusing for someone who doesn't suffer or understand, but my whole life, I've witnessed the people I love being affected by their mental illnesses. I lost someone very close to me after years of suffering from bipolar disorder, and she never once, in 56 years, gave up on herself.

When you grow up in a family where mental illness is prevalent, you view the world in a different way. You don't see the world as black and white; between people who suffer and people who don't. The truth is, every single person on this earth fights their demons in one way or another. Some people choose to talk about it while others suppress it.

When you grow up in a family with mental illnesses, you learn to suppress. I was a suppressor. I saw how mental illness could affect some of the closest people in my life. I didn't want to burden anyone else with my problems; I still feel that way.

I inflicted so much internal guilt and feelings of not being enough. I never wanted anyone to feel the way I felt about myself.

When you grow up with a mental illness, you want everyone in your life to love themselves, regardless if they love you or not. You don't love yourself, so it's not as much of a shock if someone doesn't love you too, right?

No.

It hurts about ten times worse.

Because when you grow up with a mental illness, you give everyone the love you're supposed to be giving to yourself. No one tells you that the most selfish thing you could do is hate yourself. Because when you hate yourself, you ruin your relationships with everyone who cares about you.

You stop going out to socialize, then you stop answering the phone, you listen to music that is way too sad, and you stop eating and you sleep more. You start to feel power in pretending everything is okay, you start to like being alone because no one can grill you with questions about your mental health, and you start to question if you really have a purpose.

But you never tell anyone that. You want them to think you're strong. You want to fix everyone's problems, but you would never let anyone fix yours. In your mind, you're far too damaged to be loved or "fixed". You have this underlying sense of compassion and empathy for anyone else who struggles with their own mental health, but there's no compassion for yourself.

When you have a mental illness, you go out of your way to love the people who are broken because you know how empty it is. You know how hopeless the days can be. You know what it's like to wake up and question why you bother to even try. I know I'm personally drawn to messed up people because there's some kind of unspoken connection between us.

Every day I wake up and choose to put people before me. I choose to neglect my own mental health and self-care because I fail to make myself my top priority; it is a never-ending spiral effect of wondering why I'm left disappointed time and time again. But that's the thing, you know that by never changing, nothing will get better. And sometimes, I think I'm afraid to truly be happy.

When you suffer from depression and anxiety, you feel as if you don't deserve happiness, and when you feel the slightest bit happiness, you feel guilty. You hear the voice in your head saying you're faking it or that you have too many things to worry about to be happy.

I think being happy is the bravest thing you can do. When your brain has been programmed for as long as you can remember to be miserable, dislike yourself, and believe this world is a cruel place, it's courageous to show the world your smile.

The most amazing people are the ones who choose to stand by you while you're facing your demons head-on. They don't abandon you; they respect your space and love you through it.

As I sit outside writing this, trying to get my mind right, a boy walked past a flower garden. He stopped, leaned down, and I assumed he was going to pick up a flower. He didn't. He bent down and picked up pieces of litter in the garden, and then carried on his way.

I saw this situation as someone who saw something beautiful trying to grow, even when surrounded by debris. He wanted to give it a chance to flourish, free of anything to clutter its space. That's what it feels like to love yourself through your mental illness.

And to love others through theirs.