With the majority of the population still turning a blind eye on mental health issues and with the stigma around it, admitting that you are mentally impaired is synonymous to claiming that you are crazy, psychotic, pathetic, crybaby, or whatever names they call mental health sufferers.
Writing the pain as I go through it makes each battle a little bearable, but putting the word out there for the world to see used to make me uncomfortable.
I won’t sugarcoat it: anxiety is ugly. Not only does it make me feel a thousand emotions at a time, but it also triggers my depression big time. As a creative who writes for a living, I discovered there’s an upside to all this.
I don’t find the time to blog. I believe if an idea does not come out of me naturally, there’s no point hitting that “Write” button and trying to come up with a made-up vision just for the sake of publishing something.
If you just learn to love me for who I am, you’ll see that I am more than just an anxious girlfriend. I am more than my anxiety.
I always came into the battlefield defenseless, but I was never hopeless. Hope is the only anchor that keeps me alive.
And because we are all entitled to voice out our opinion, I listed the 13 reasons why I don’t understand all the hate.