The word that no one talks about.

This is, by far, the most important piece I've written. As the matter requires, I'll try my best not to cross that thin line that divides testimonial information from a sensationalist piece. It hurts, as it comes from the darkest of all places, from that place where we all keep those taboo topics safe from public display. It hurts to accept it, to face the fact that you've dreamt of never waking up again. I know, fellow reader, it will hurt your heart to face the fact that I've gone through that. But we've gotta talk about that, about the things that hurt.

About suicide.

This is, by far, the most important piece I've written. Because once you've experienced suicide as a close reality (not necessarily because you've had an attempt, just wanting it is enough) you've acquired a responsibility, which is to talk about it, to create awareness. Not only for you, for the ones that struggle daily, but for those who are gone but never forgotten. You need to speak up, for their memories to stay alive, for their legacy not to be lost, for them to rest in peace. Speak for those who are for some just statistics now, which show that suicide increases in a rhythm that is simply alarming, but that for me are fellow warriors, soldiers who died in the battlefield.

This is, by far, the most important piece I've written. Because I refuse to live in a world in which the first response people have towards someone who died by suicide is "what a selfish act". I'm not defending suicide, it's painful and absolutely tragic, but thanks to education now I know it's part of several mental and physical diseases. It's not, as ignorance made us think, what people do when they aren't strong enough or when they are selfish. I believe, and I'm learning every day, that there are so many different ways to cope with your emotional pain. I've been lucky enough to realize that death isn't the only way out. But I've been sad enough to feel empathy, to understand, to feel the stigma that the word itself carries. I've been frowned uponed enough to realize we need to speak up about suicide, to educate ourselves and others. Because talking means we could be saving lives, creating awareness, teaching people.

This is, by far, the most important piece I've written. Because I've never wished for my own death as I have wished for it in the past year. One thing is wanting to disappear for a while or "dig a hole in the face of earth and go on it", and another thing is wanting to kill yourself. Fantasize about it. Imagine it. Having it become a recurrent thought on your head. Feeling the danger you are in and being aware of it. Accepting that your head has way too much power and fearing that one day, when you are impulsive enough, you pay attention to the things you shouldn't be thinking about... You know it's wrong to feel that way, to think that way, to want something so twisted and painful. You are the first to judge yourself, the first to feel ashamed. I'm talking about those who've died by suicide while struggling a mental illness, because that's the case I can relate to. I know many, many won't get it.  But imagine a pain so deep, so hard, so overwhelming that blocks your brain from seeing any way out other than dying. Imagine having feelings so strong and so profound that make you wanna crawl out of your own skin, cutting it off. I know many, many won't get it. But self harming is not a joke, neither is wanting to kill yourself. Also believe me, it's not a selfish act. This may sound weird, but it takes courage to be alive, and it does take courage to take away your own life. Because you are aware that is a point less bet. You are choosing the unknown (in my case as I'm religious I believe in an afterlife, but let's face it: we have no certainty of what to expect once you die), choosing to stop seeing your friends and family forever, choosing to never see your dreams coming true. You are giving up all of that and you are aware of that, which makes it even MORE painful... And that's why I'm saying it takes courage. To consciously give all that up in exchange of saying goodbye to your emotional tsunamis. Next time you're going to judge someone who died by suicide, think that for a minute. What kind of pain would make you give up on everything we know? It has to be one hell of a pain. One that can't be described with words. And that person, who died, passed away trying to battle that pain away. They just couldn't take it anymore. They were sick, their disease just wasn't visible.

This is, by far, the most important piece I've written. For the simple reason that our society is so messed up that suicide is hidden, is denied, and that teaches people they can't speak. They can't warn  about the thoughts appearing in their minds. They are terrified of being judged because people make fun of the marks on their arms, so they keep quiet. They believe what their heads tell them: that there isn't a way out other than suicide, so they just speak in their suicide note. So many lives that could be saved. So many people that we could help. Just by speaking up.

This is, by far, the most important piece I've written. Because I'm learning to shut up my mind as I've seen there are so many ways out other that death. Therapy, medication, friends, family, volunteering, trying out new recipes, Gilmore Girls revival, late night conversations, taking pictures with my 2 year old godson, sleeping until late on a rainy day, and more. I've found the joy of life in so, so, so many things. Your mind will still suggest death as the way out in times of intense pain and deep emotions and it will still sound convincing sometimes. Because there relies the magic, as you find more and more simple, tiny reasons to be alive, your mind becomes less and less powerful. Until someday it'll be just noise in the backround.  You show your mind that there are other ways, and just keep living by living. There's no other way. By living you'll meet new people, bond with family, create new memories, laugh until you cry for the first time in forever, you will enjoy life again. To any of those who have felt like that or are currently there, please, please find help. Speak up. You'll see that your therapist might save your life, and that with him/her you will find a judge-free zone. Your family and friends might as well save your life, loving you just the way you are and guarding your life as if it was their most precious treasure. And life will get better, I can guarantee. But you have to ask for help, to raise your voice, to speak up. All of the good in you, as tiny as it seem , deserve to decide how your story ends.

This is, by far, the most important piece I've written. Because I intend to ask you, dear reader, three things. First, talk about all of those topics that are taboo, get information, make them come alive so if someone comes to you with a mental condition they feel you will listen. That brings me to the second thing. We all know stories of people who've died by suicide or will know someone in our entire lifetime. Please, oh please, don't judge them or their families. Don't say it was selfish. Don't say they were weak. If you still can't find empathy, at least don't say anything. I can assure they tried their best. Battling mental conditions is just more than some can take sometimes, but that doesn't make them weak. They fought and a disease, that poisons their minds, took them away. Third and last, let's all remember those who passed away for SO MUCH MORE than the way they died and the stigma that surrounds it. They were so much more than the way their story on this earth ended .  They were so much more than their disease. And they deserve to be remembered like that.

When you try your best...

Once you open your mind and soul to the world, you struggle with several thoughts. One of them, that's been in my mind lately is how to be a voice that represents the struggle with mental conditions and fights for the end of stigmatization and discrimination while still battling depression and anxiety. How to encourage others in days in which you can't even encourage yourself. How to show that you are more than depression in a depressive episode. So meditating and talking to friends have made me realize that this is exactly what this whole experience is about. Showing that you can overcome a disease and that you are so much more than a diagnosis, but that doesn't mean you deny your reality. It's about accepting that depression and anxiety are guests in your world and sometimes like to make a scene and take over your body, but that they aren't your entire being. So I decided to speak about the bad days, because is as real as the positive experiences and it's part of who I am right now.
I don't want to talk about specific symptoms, as this isn't a clinical psychology class, but I want to speak about my experience going through them and how it has evolved over the years. I would love to tell you it gets less frustrating as the years go by or that you are less scared but, unfortunately, I can't. In my experience, it has worked on the opposite, becoming more frustrating as the years go by. Because one simple reason, you believe that a psychological suffering is equivalent to a physical injury, so once you've took your meds, you'll be healed for life. That's not how the mind works. When recovering, all you've got is your experience, your journey. There aren't x-rays that show if the injury is getting better or labs that confirm that your levels are up and normal for someone your age. Nope. So you have to deal with a little voice in your head that'll judge you harder than anyone for your bad moments and that somehow knows all your biggest fears and it's willing to shout them to you at night before you go to sleep: "WHY ARE YOU SAD AGAIN? ARE YOU SO MISERABLE THAT THE TREATMENT ISN'T WORKING FOR YOU? ARE YOU THAT DAMAGED? DEFINITELY, YOU ARE HOPELESS... YOU MIGHT AS WELL DIE (plays suicide fantasies in the backround)" and so on. That, plus the symptoms of the depressive episode. So it sucks, yes it does.
The bad news: It'll keep happening Sometimes out of the blue, when you least expect it, when you are feeling on top of the world, when you feel finally free. Depression has a way of biting you in the ass just when you are feeling as happy as a kid, just to remind you that it still exists. Because as hard as you try, as good as you feel, you are still in recovery. Which means these episodes can and will happen. 
The good news: You aren't a weirdo-damaged-failure specimen for that. It's normal. Relapses are part of the process and healing takes time. Just because someone felt fine in a week and magically cured from depression, doesn't mean it'll work that way with you. This is your story, and you are battling a custom-made monster (that even though shares common characteristics with other monsters from other people). One of a kind. So your battle will be unique, and so your recovery and your healing process. You will get better, I promise. At your own time, in your own terms. And even though frustration exist and you'll hate feeling symptoms after having a good day, you are tougher now. Braver. Stronger. More empathic. More loving. So you have all of these amazing tools to say "Ok, it sucks, but I know It'll pass and I'll be fine". Please, please, don't feel like a failure. You are trying your best, and that is a huge deal, it's just a very complex road. 
And stop comparing yourself to others. I really can't emphasize how important this is. People will come, with awesome intentions, telling you all kinds of magical ways in which they healed themselves faster, or will question your therapist, or will tell you your medication sucks, or will demand you to heal faster (that's my favourite: Hey, you've been in this process for four months already. Shouldn't you be better by now?). To all of those people, I can assure you that no one goes to the pain of fighting a mental illness just for the fun of it. I assure you that we all loveeeeee to heal faster, to be better, to stop fighting. But it's deeper and far more complex than that. If we have good therapists and the medication works most of the day, let us be happy with that. We know that you love us, but it is OUR process so please, gently back off. Only good vibes, positive things and TONS of love are accepted. Thank you!
People tend to think that you only get better or that your process is only working if you are symptoms-free. If you are constantly happy and cheerful. Well, let me tell you that's impossible for any human being. That is pathological. It's normal to have ups and downs and more if you are in a recovery process. When you struggle with a mental condition you just gotta hold on to the little things and celebrate them, those are positive indicators and they may seem very small and insignificant for the world (screw them): They are your own personal victories. You managed to get out of bed, yay! You managed to take a bath, yay! You had social interaction, yay! You had a night of good sleep and could wake up feeling refreshed, yay! You didn't cried today, yay! You had only few or no suicidal thoughts, hooorrayyy! Those things others take for granted, are your little trophies. Embrace them. And take it easy, we all have bad days, bad weeks, bad months... Love and thank yourself because you are trying your best, it's just recovery is a pain in the ass.

I like to use the term "battling" a mental condition for what it represents. I don't know if it makes much sense of if it's just my very own way of finding magic in a topic that's usually taboo. I'll discuss a very common thing, that's becoming even more common and it's the mind-body relation when it comes to physical illnesses.
I'm no doctor and not a psychologist yet, just a woman who've heard the word "psychosomatic" way too many times. And I don't know about others' experiences but at least in mind, there's something that is really frustrating about that term. Stating the facts: you have a mental condition, depression and anxiety in my case, which comes with marvellous symptoms that you in fact feel and express. You feel the anxiety raising up in daily harmless situations that somehow your mind interprets as dangerous, you've cried one too many times, you go to therapies and talk about all your nightmares and difficulties. And somehow you start feeling something in your body. Tangible. It may be uncontrollable rash in your skin or the sudden lack of air, digestive issues or my all time favorite and latest discovery, the ability of your own body to become mute, blind, paralyzed all of the sudden.
You feel it. It's real. One day you are walking (I've never been very coordinated but I defend myself on the basics) and in an instant, panic rises very high and BAM you can't move your legs. For real. You know you have legs, you see them, you feel them, but they've entered a strike. It goes like this:
Me (looking at my legs): move, now. I demand you to move. MOVE!
Legs:...
12 hours later....
Me: Good morning body, hope we have a calm day today
Legs: Oh hey! It's right leg here. Sorry about last night. That was loco. But... Lefty is still unresponsive.
Me: are you kidding me??!!!
Right leg: nope. Lefty has left the building, I repeat: left leg has left the building.

And here I am. In the E.R because my psychiatrist is "pretty sure it's just a panic episode and a somatic thing, but wants to make sure if fine neurologically". I know I'll go in there and everything will be fine and the tests will be ok and the doctor will bring up again my favourite word "somatization". And I'll be walking again as before in no time and I'll be talking again as a parrot in no time (lately my voice likes to play hide and seek when emotions are too strong and I go mute and then I get this weird french accent but I didn't adressed it in this post directly because hey, one thing at a time).
I've always hated the psychosomatic stuff. Because as far as I get, it's the language of your body speaking for the emotions you've kept hidden. But hello! I exhale emotions, I sweat emotions, for God's sake! I'm aware of my emotions and I cry them and express them and feel them. Body darling, won't you please work with me? Psychologically I'm in pain, and physically too because apparently I've got more to feel than what I already do. Great. I've got to admit that since the whole depression thing started my health has had some changes. I've welcomed in my life asthma, fibromyalgia, dermatitis, restless legs syndrome, alopecia, and now the voice-legs thingy. There are times when I've talk about myself as a self-proclaimed Somatization queen.
But once again, I could keep fighting against my body and it's particular way of expressing itself or I could just accept it and move on. So I go back to the start. Battling, battlefield.  My body is a battlefield. Of myself against my mind. I imagine myself as this tiny warrior in a silver armour with a helmet bigger that my head, a sword and a shield. And my contender is of course the big black monster of depression and anxiety. The territory we are fighting for: my body. Little warrior Mariana is hopeful and joyful and smart, and a little lazy. She's everything I am. And she won't give up until she's able to rule her territory. She knows she might never kill the scary monster, but she hopes for a peace treaty. Like in my country. Some days pass by without confrontation, but others... they fight with all they've got.
I feel them fighting for my lungs, and those days I have to use my inhaler and stay warm, which are troops that get into the fight to help the warrior. Some fights are simpler than others, some are won by Mariana and some, I have to admit are temporarily won by the monster. Those are my bad days in which my physical symptoms are huge and unbearable, like if depression and anxiety said "now that your vocal cords are mine, I'll leave you voiceless forever", while exploiting the psychological symptoms too. But then backups come from outside, a good therapy, a nice message from a love one, a picture from my godson, a joke from my brother, a hug from my mom, comfort words from my father, a piece of chocolate, a nap. I don't know what, but it wakes up the little warrior. And she's back, dusts herself off and goes on the quest to conquer what belongs to her. And she does! And I start talking again... slowly. Recovery is way to slow for my taste. So I figure out after these huge fights my body remains like those villages in movie scenes after the troops came and tried to conquer it. Some stuff is burnt, some is broken, some strong structures stand still. And you have to rebuild from there.
All this tale is the only way I've found I can deal with the physical symptoms. So now, everytime I wake up and my body hurts or I have trouble breathing,  I just think it's part of my battle. And I know the warrior inside me will win the war even though some battles may seem impossible. And I've given a new meaning to the somatization stuff, they are just proofs that I'm alive, and that I'm battling daily to be the best I can be.

Coming out.

 Today I made this blog public by sharing it on my Facebook page. I can't point out the exact moment in which I decided to make it public and share my intimacy with strangers, friends and family, I just felt that I had to do it. They say it takes 20 seconds of insane courage and something good will come out of it, and that's sort of what happened.

Through the day, I've had tons of feelings. I was out there. All of the sudden I realized, I was exposed. I felt like I was naked, I've just opened the door to my intimacy, to my private little heaven/hell, and to whoever wanted to come in. For the first time, I was out in the open, no sugar-coated, no rehearsed lines. Just me. In the most private and raw way. As I realized this, I felt sick, I just wanted to crawl up in my bed and delete everything and just move on without ever mention my experience or the blog or anything. It's scary, frightening actually, to let the world see your complete humanity. I was taught (as many) that I couldn't let myself be fragile in front of others. And all of the sudden I was giving others all they needed to judge me, to call me fragile, to call me weak, to call me sick, to reject me. I was showing the world my struggle and telling people "Here you go, welcome and I hope you enjoy your visit". Was that a smart move? Was I being too naive thinking people could relate to my struggle in a non-judgemental way?

I kept feeling unsure until I saw the feedback. It has been more loving than I could ever dreamt of. As people read me, they started telling me about their own struggles, their family stories, about all of those mental issues they've kept under the rug as most do. And with that it was clear. The problem isn't depression, or bipolarity or OCD or any mental struggle. The problem is that our society isn't ready to accept that mental health matters, and matters just as much as physical health. You would never feel ashamed or feel that you will be judged if you accept that you battle cancer or diabetes or migraines. 

Mental issues require people to speak up. Of course, you can't control how everyone will react and as you speak up, you are vulnerable to people judging you or degrading your experience. But it's so worth it. I swear it. If my experience helps even a single soul, all of the sleepless nights, the tears, the suicide thoughts, the fatigue, they'll all be worth it. 

So that's why you speak. To help others, to bring information, to stop stigma, To show that depression doesn't always looks like Eeyore from Winnie The Pooh, that it may come in the form of a smiling, good student with loving family. I speak because I've found so much support in online blogs (The Mighty, TWLOHA). You feel like someone, even if it's through a screen, understands you, feels your pain and shows you it is possible to live your life. You speak up for all of those whose family won't believe in them and just tells them to "man up" or "eat chocolate" or that "we all have moments when we feel tired/sad, it's nothing". You speak up to show and to teach that therapy does change your life, and that not all therapist and psychiatrists are monsters. Mine have changed my life for good, and I think my life won't be long enough to thank them for helping me to believe and love myself. They’ve become family. You speak for those who've lost the battle, those who've had committed suicide, to teach people that they were not selfish, they were not weak. They were warriors, it's just that our mind makes some way too powerful enemies and it's a very difficult battle. You speak up to make others understand you, so you can finally approach to them without a mask or without the pressure of having to be "perfect" every single time. Finally, you speak up for yourself. To heal. To understand. To admire and to finally thank the little light in your heart that never disappeared, that not even depression could blow out. Because is thanks to that, to the little girl in you, to the light in your heart, to the part that loved life (no matter how small it may be) that you can tell your story. Thanks to that, you can take the breath you are taking right now and type this letters, which will set you free

Learning to accept your true colors

One of the hardest issues I've had to deal with is acceptance. I've come to realize it that somehow it's harder to accept your own "demons" because we've been taught to be perfect. Life is a constant separation between opposites: Good-bad, light-darkness, happy-sad, healthy-sick, and so on...We are taught that we should be on the "good" side of those categories, but what happens when you are faced with living with opposites? Is that possible?
Here's my case. I've always been little miss smiles. I'm always smiling, I constantly laugh. I oftenly tell people about my depression with a smile on my face (which makes it weird, I know). I've always been that way, since I was little, joking around and messing up with people with a happy, cheerful face. That's certainly not compatible with having a depression, or at least what people imagine a depressed person looks like. Or so I thought.
When you are battling a mental condition, you are constantly praying and begging life to make you healthy again, to get well, to be able to be yourself again. You don't want to live like this because you somehow feel your identity was stolen by some monster (Depression in my case) and that you need to kill it in order for you to live again. I used to pray to every Saint available so they will remind God to heal me once for all, I blew every birthday candle wishing for a year with 0 depressive symptoms and I swore to myself every New Year that this would be the last one in which I had to take medications. I believed, truly believed, I couldn't be myself with depression because I was sick. I needed to be healed and life pretty much seamed umbearable if I imagined I had to live with depressive symptoms my whole existance.
But after 5 years of ups and downs, medications, therapy, you start wondering... Is the rest of my life going to be like this? And there you hit a decisive point, it's a question that can either make you or break you. You can cry yourself to sleep, torture your mind with amazing fantasies of a 60-year old version of yourself with a huge name tag that says "I STILL have depression" and you can simply let it ruin your life. Of course, your anxious mind will tell you "You shouldn't have kids if you're ging to be depressed for the rest of your life because it would be unfair to them" and stuff like that which all ends up saying: I'll be depressed for the rest of my life therefore I have no future and I can't do anything because life is for those who are healthy and I will never be healthy so I might just as well start crying now and stop when I turn 95 (If I haven't kill myself before). Not so nice, right? Well, there's another way you can go.
Thanks to my therapist, some ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy) books, self-love and a lot of meditation, I realized this: You can live with depression and really live. That means you can still achieve your dreams, fullfil your goals, be yourself WHILE HAVING DEPRESSION. Because it doesn't define you. Yes, it will make the road a little harder and yes you will have to accept yourself with love and gratitude while having nights in which you won't stop crying or days in which getting out of bed seems unthinkable. But you can make it. Depression won't steal your identity because life is about balancing opposites: So you can still be little miss smiley face while having hard days. That doesn't make you a faker or it doesn't make you deny your situation. It just makes you accept it, like one of your many, many, many things: your brown eyes, your big cheeks, your eternal hate for running, your big heart, your intelligence, your depressive moments. This isn't a curse, it's part of your story and it'll give you so much strenght. It'll teach you how to not take anything for granted or how to be more empathic. It's an absolute cliché but sometimes the greatest blessings come in ways we didn't expected. You just have to accept your demons, your shadows, your dark side, and invite them to play with all of the other things that make you who you are.

Battling a diagnosis regarding a mental condition can be difficult. The stigmatization, lack of information and social rejection are some of the challenges that you come upon living with a mind that works in a different way. In my case, it's depression, anxiety and the physical consequences that come upon the ones that have changed my life. This blogs purpose is solely for all of those who struggle or ever feel hopeless, to find a place where they feel understood and that even though the road may be difficult, it's possible to live a calm, happy existence accepting yourself. The challenge is no the condition itself, but how you choose to fight it and the way you manage to balance your darkness with the other aspects of your life.

When life seems unbearable, take it one second at a time.

This article won't have an ending as it portrays my current situation. I've been struggling depression for 5 years now, and anxiety my whole life. I was always a scary little girl. Everything used to frighten me, darkness, school, social interactions, loneliness, death, plus those amazing anxious fantasies in which everyday situations turn just chaotic and tragic. Foremost, I hated changes, I hated when things just changed out of the blue. Unexpected situations were (and still are) my biggest fear. For that I had my life, my every move, perfectly planned out. I left no room for disaster (or so I thought) in my life: I would graduate from high school at the average age, then I would study psychology for five years, then I would get married young, have 2 babies, and so on. I wanted the movie, Hollywood type of life, while being a happy, perfect, in sync lady. What could go wrong, right?

How did my perfectly planned life got here? I have no idea. I just know that depression has managed to change my life 180 degrees. My reality is basically therapy, meds, art, exercise, and lots of love from family and friends. That's my life now. I was forced to stop my race towards my perfect life and every time I make plans, a relapse reminds me to take it slowly. In 6 months I've come from the perfect student with multiple jobs and an active social life to someone who struggles daily to get to tomorrow. I've changed my social circle, prioritizing those who've loved me unconditionally through this crisis and saying goodbye to those who even question the realness of my mental condition. I can't drive, I can't go out by myself and I've had to leave 3 theatres since the plot of the movies I was watching had to do with dead and suicide and that triggered panic attacks. Before I was a fluent speaker, now I stutter and even literary can't speak when it comes to taking about certain traumatic issues for me. Of course most of my previous plans and ideas of a "perfect life" are trash now. I just want to get healthy, I just want to be happy, I just want to get over this crisis. That's my only goal.

I've learned three things that I would like to share to anyone who somehow relates with my story. First, if depression had never shook my life like this I probably wouldn't have realized how amazing those who support me are, no matter how imperfect I feel I am. You feel miserable, your health goes downhill, your mind won’t shut up, but still people out there believe in you. And that’s amazing. To be able to have friends and family, no matter how few they are, that love you even when they see you in your raw, depressive state, that’s gold. I can't thank enough for my mom's endless patient as she is my main caregiver, or my therapist positive attitude, or my psychiatrist honesty. Even when therapy sucks because I’m having a bad day and I’m feeling worthless and stuck, my psychology and psychiatrist have become my family. They stand by me, they do their best to understand me, they believe in me in times when believing in myself sounds like a joke to me. You have to accept the positive things others are willing to give you, no matter how small they may seem or how hard it is for you, accept the help, love and care that others bring. You’ll nourish from that.

Third, and most importantly: You are not just a diagnosis. You aren't a crisis, or the medications you take or a category in a medicine book. You are so much more, you are alive and life has ups and downs. You are a whole universe, memories, friends, enemies, mistakes and virtues. You suffer, we all do. Maybe your path was paved a little harder and it's a bit more inclined, but that will only make you stronger, braver, wiser. There's so much more out there you can do, and I swear life will get easier once you start loving your demons, your shadows, your darkness. It's part of your life, it's part of your journey: Embrace it.

As I said, I have no answer about how to adapt to the way depression changes your life. It's unpredictable, and so is recovery. I've just learned to take it one day, one hour, one minute at a time, and just be thankful that you've beaten depression until this moment. Celebrate the “small” victories, they are bigger than they seem. Whatever comes ahead, will come. Just be grateful for the breath you are taking right now.

Well, they say God laughs at your plans and He certainly had something different in mind. Depression came along, anxiety got worse, panic attacks and endless physical symptoms that only showed I had huge emotional issues. Still, I managed to graduate and started university, while having a boyfriend and a somehow active social life. I cried myself to sleep and took medications, but I would still go out with a smile in my face. And my plan was still going as I wanted it to. Until 3 years ago.

My perfect family suddenly fell apart when my parents split, my dog died, my grandparents got sick. Pretty normal stuff, but not for me. Mrs. Perfect couldn't take it anymore. Life was throwing at me way too many changes, and as a pressure pot I couldn't take it anymore. I entered a deep crisis in June '16 that made me rethink everything. I couldn't stop crying even with meds and therapy, suicidal thoughts were a daily movie my mind played, I lost my appetite and I would sleep 14 hours each night with 3 naps. My psychiatrist demanded me to have 24-hour company, and all meds and sharp objects hidden. He also said I shouldn't go back to university on August, rather take care of myself and get better. And so I did. Anxiety and depression sure didn’t make it easy, constantly chanting around like Christmas carolers stuff like “If you were good enough you wouldn’t take time off, would you?”, “Why can’t you just be like all of your colleagues who CAN go to school and function in a NORMAL way?”, “Are you alive for this? Really? To see your downfall? You’d be better dead”, and so on… 

 Secondly, this changed my obsessive planning personality. Now, I live for today. For my health today, for my struggle today, for my blessings today. One day at a time. Having a mental illness makes you put everything in perspective, it changes your ideas, your priorities. You just want to be fine, to feel like yourself again, to be able to spend one week without suicide thoughts or without crying yourself to sleep. I don't care about if I'm a perfect student, or if I take more time to get my degree, or at what age I will get married. It's funny how sometimes life makes you miserable in order to realize that you should live for today. Be happy for today. Fight for today. Even though your mind has made your life miserable, here you are, smiling, struggling, fighting, and winning. You are a champion of life as every second passes by, because you chose to be here, to believe in yourself.