Friend,

I know there are a million things left unsaid, a million sleepless nights, a million quirky habits you just never explain.

I read stories of how anxiety makes it easier for you to love because you're sensitive.

Sensitive doesn't make you soft. Girls who suffer from anxiety have to battle high levels of stress to successfully function in nearly any daily scenario.

If I had the flu, I would hear get well wishes and reminders to drink fluids. When I am having an anxiety attack, I am told there is nothing to worry about.

But still, telling someone that I have anxiety is always a big deal. It's something personal to share, and for as many good reactions there's a bad one. I just have to hope the person I'm sharing this with has the right idea about mental health.

People fail to realize that a mental illness is not the plague. It is not Jack Nicholson in the Shining. It's shaking hands and one too many cigarettes and refusing to leave your home for the sake of not wanting eyes on you.

It's never been the dark-eyed girl who falls in love with the hero at the end of the story; it's saying the wrong shit at the wrong time. Breathing heavy, you talk yourself out of thinking; you fear that someone will notice it's not all together.

Don't make it pretty.

Don't make it casual.

Explain that it's more than thinking too much or freaking out; there is nothing beautiful about it, and it does not define your character.

Have daily goals in mind. It's more than OK to take everything one step at a time.