To preface this article with context: I have struggled with severe anxiety and depression for a long time. I remember having extreme and unrealistic phobias and anxieties even when I was in elementary school, and they slowly grew as I maneuvered my way through middle and high school, intermingling with depressive thoughts and episodes.

They hit a peak when I was in college. I barely got out of bed most days, and if I did it was to go straight to class and then back to my dorm, alone. I barely ate or slept, and it drove me to somewhat of a breaking point where I realized I hated how I was living, and would do anything to change it.

So I started therapy. I started talking to the on-campus doctor about medication. I started reaching out to my friends and family more. I forced myself to leave the house, even if I didn't have anything to do. I even started exercising.

The breaking point that spurred me into getting help for my mental health was around two years ago, and I can confidently say that I am in an infinitely better place today. I am surrounded by love and support from my family and friends, and I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize being alive--a stark difference from a few years ago, when I wanted nothing more than to just sleep for the rest of my life. Medication and therapy additionally helped me a great deal; they helped me arrive at a point where I am no longer crippled by anxiety or depression, which I never thought was possible.

It is safe to say I am in recovery from mental illness, and slowly detangling myself from its grasp. But "recovery" is a little too general of a term, and doesn't accurately describe mine or many other's experience with mental health.

When I say "recovery," I don't mean that I never have anxious or depressive thoughts. I still have days where all I want to do is lay in bed and cry, for literally no particular reason. There are times where I desperately don't want to leave my apartment, because I'm too anxious to be around or talk to other people. I still have irrational fears and thoughts that make me unreasonably anxious or sad.

At first, having these kinds of days or thoughts would make me so, so angry. I just couldn't understand why I was still struggling, even though my life had gotten so much better, and I felt so much better. I thought to myself, "Will I ever be okay? Will I ever be happy, will I ever not feel this way?"

Arriving at the answer was just as complex as the answer itself, which is yes and no. As I continued with medication, therapy and other coping mechanisms I realized that even though I am getting help for myself and improving every day doesn't mean I will never deal with mental illness again. Just because I am so happy and grateful to be alive doesn't mean I will never falter and feel sad or anxious sometimes.

I learned that yes, I will be okay, and yes, I will be happy--but it's unrealistic to believe that I will never have to fight with my anxiety or depression ever again. Recovery is not linear. It's not this straight line that goes up and up until euphoria is achieved; rather it's a wavy squiggle that goes really, really high, but also really, really down sometimes.

I think recovery is a continuous journey, with no stopping point. There's not going to be a day where I just wake up and never again feel sad or nervous for no reason. There will probably be many days like that--but I now know that those days aren't the end of the world. They don't mean I'll never be happy again.

I know I'll be fighting with my mental illness for the rest of my life, but now, I have people cheering me on. I know how to take down my unreasonable and random anxieties and depressive thoughts.

Recovery isn't linear--but I'm ready to take it on.