I feel it creep up on me. In the middle of a good day when the sun is shining and I have little to worry about. When I'm out at a party with friends, surrounded by people who can so easily trade their inhibitions in for a vodka-Sprite. It follows me to my classes and waits for me in the halls. It looms over me while I'm working and forces me to wear a convincing smile so people don't ask me if I'm OK. Sometimes it keeps me awake at night, tossing and worrying. Then it lures me back into my bed during a perfectly productive day, because sleep is the ever so sweet release that I've become so familiar with.

I've been living with anxiety and depression my whole life. Though I wasn't officially diagnosed until middle school, I can still remember having panic attacks as a little girl and not really understanding what was going on. I would come home from school and going straight to bed for a four-hour nap, and then not having any issues falling asleep that night. There were so many feelings going through my head at all times, one million miles a minute. There still are.

Though I'm by no means cured or rid of these diseases, living with them has become a part of who I am. It's something I've grown somewhat comfortable with. For me, my depression is like wearing a big backpack, completely stuffed with books, nonstop. Heavy, heavier, heaviest. Sure, sometimes I'll take a few books out to lighten my load, but I always put them back in and zip the bag back up because they're mine, and leaving my books lying around would stress me out. I carry my backpack everywhere.

It's frustrating living this way. I know I have a million reasons to be happy, and to enjoy my life. I know I'm extremely fortunate and privileged. I know there are families being separated by their government, while mine is perfectly intact. I know there are young students who desire to get an education but can't afford it, while my parents are helping me pay for college. There's famine, poverty, war, anguish, and pain everywhere, and yet, I still have everything I need. I'm physically healthy. I have a warm bed to sleep in and a loving family to endure this world with.

What did I ever do to deserve a life so great, when I don't even know how to properly appreciate it? Why should I have all of these nice things and loving people who support me, when I've done nothing to deserve them? I have a world of opportunities on my doorstep and still, I'd rather shut the door and go inside for a nap.

My goal in life is to get a little bit better and grow a little bit more as a person, every single day. I have to remind myself that it's the little things that make life worthwhile, and I need to spend more time enjoying them. I know in my heart the struggle will never get easier, I'll just get stronger.