Your heart races. You can't breathe. You feel your entire body clench and your neck stiffen. As your head and body begin to ache, a feeling of panic seeps through your brain and pollutes your thoughts. It feels like the end of the world. For some, this is a worst case scenario that is impossible to imagine. For people who suffer from anxiety problems, however, these are all too familiar feelings.

According to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America, 40 million American adults have an anxiety disorder. These people make up 18% of the population, but only about one-third of them seek treatment. I believe much of this lack of treatment is due to the stigma that surrounds mental illness. No one wants to be labeled as a "crazy person," and an anxiety disorder magnifies this fear even more. "Just calm down and relax," people tell you. If only it were that easy.

This summer, I finally sought treatment for my anxiety. At the time, I thought I was just stressed from my mom's recent ALS diagnosis and that I'd soon get over it. After weeks of panic attacks, migraines and sleepless nights I finally followed my mom's advice and went to the doctor. I couldn't even get through the appointment without a nervous breakdown. My doctor listened to me get it all out and gave me a calming smile to let me know she understood. She diagnosed me with adjustment disorder with anxiety and prescribed me a low dose of a Prozac to help.

I was completely taken aback. I allowed the stigma to make me recoil from the thought of needing "happy pills." Grudgingly, I took the pills. After all, I was exhausted from constantly feeling on edge, about to break into a thousand pieces at any time. Shortly afterward, I was amazed at how I felt.

I could breathe. I could fall asleep and stay asleep. I was able to calmly talk about my feelings and the situation with my mom's declining health. I soon realized that anxiety wasn't just a temporary issue, but rather something I had been ignoring for a long time. I realized that it wasn't normal to jump to the worst conclusion, always fearing the worst case scenario around every turn. I learned how to finally breathe deeply and un-scrunch my shoulders. I didn't dwell on what-ifs or sprint 1,000 steps ahead and incessantly worry about the future. I laughed more. I discovered what it was like to be carefree and relaxed. I learned how to take life one day at a time, thanks to a brain that was finally balanced.

Medication is by no means a cure-all for any time of mental illness or disorder. Everyone is different. Counseling and other therapy options are beneficial options as well. In my case, however, anti-anxiety medication helped me immensely. It allowed me to break the surface of the ocean of anxiety and get my first few gasps of fresh air. It finally allowed me to talk about my thoughts and feelings instead of just ignoring them. Looking back, I wish I would have sought help sooner instead of waiting until I could barely function. Yes, I still have days where I'm sad or upset, everyone does. Now I'm just able to let myself feel my emotions and move through them.

For all the people who have ever felt the way I did, you are not alone. You are not crazy. Don't let the stigma of mental illness convince you to keep living an unhappy life. Please ask for help. It's okay. You are still strong. In fact, asking for help is probably the strongest thing you can do. You are not being selfish; you have to make sure you can take care of yourself before you can take care of other people. I thank God every day that I finally accepted help.

This is something that doesn't get talked about enough because it isn't considered "polite conversation." I say screw polite conversation, because none of it is worth it if you aren't happy.