Recently, I sat down with one of my friends from high school. For a few hours we talked about subjects ranging from our relationships to mental illnesses to what the graduates of our class were doing.

At some point during the conversation, a thought occurred to me.

People from high school don’t realize who I truly am. The only reason my friend was getting to see this side of me is because we can talk openly without fear of judgement.

You see, I am not one of the people who graduates from high school and spends the rest of their lives wishing they could go back. Oh no. I am the person that counted down the days until they graduated because they thought “I can’t wait to get out of this hell hole” every single day.

I spent four years of my life with the same people, hearing the same things about me circulate throughout the hallways, willing the years to slip away from me. A façade had been put in place for who I really was, and I let very few people see the real me.

So here we are folks: I am about to show you the real me.

The real me suffers from generalized anxiety, social anxiety, and depression.

For years, I had no idea that what I was feeling was either anxiety or depression. I thought that it was just my personality, until one of my friends started talking about her own issues.

It was (and still is) the reason that I will feel trapped in large crowds, feel as if every single person is scrutinizing every aspect of my appearance when I walk into a room and why I always felt horrible talking to people one on one – fearing that I was going to offend them and lose their friendship.

It is the reason that I have panic attacks alone in my room when I’m introduced to change or a new situation in large doses. When I react horribly to a situation that in reality is very small, the reason is my anxiety.

But here’s the thing.

The reason almost absolutely no one knows about all of this (as mentioned above) is because I hid these issues from everyone. In fact, the first person I talked to about anything of these problems was my AP Government teacher, who was one of the biggest influences on my life towards the end of my high school career.

I just fought through all of the issues alone. When I was having severe depression, I just dealt with it. When I wanted to crawl out of my skin and run away, I suffered alone.

Yes, I realize that mental health issues are not an excuse. However, please realize that every single time you called me a “bitch,” it was (more than likely) because I didn’t know how to talk to you out of fear and what I said came out wrong.

When I wouldn’t tell you what was wrong when you asked, it was because I didn’t know how to explain that I was depressed, that I cried myself to sleep every night.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that I never showed you the passion that I had for the subjects I was studying out of fear of being ridiculed, especially when I saw the way you talked about my classmates.

I’m sorry that I tried talking to some of you, only to be laughed at when I struggled to find the words or said something “uncool."

I’m sorry that, instead of the majority of you thinking, “maybe there’s something else going on…” you automatically judged me and disliked me for the rest of my life.

In some part now, you know the real me.

But not fully.