When I was 12, I was diagnosed with separation anxiety. A year later, it expanded to generalized anxiety disorder. Soon after came severe social phobia and major depressive disorder. A few years later, they threw in bipolar II disorder.

Illness after illness, label after label, medication after medication, mess after mess, I just tried to make it through each day. It sucked.

Now I’m in my 30s, and it still sucks. I spend endless amounts of time trying to distinguish one illness from another and analyze each to death. Guess what. It’s not worth it. The fact of the matter is, my brain is a war zone. Getting out of bed in the morning often coincides with shedding tears. Leaving the house results in anxiety attacks. Time alone leaves me spiraling into a pit of depression. I constantly feel like I’m running on thin ice, hoping I never fall in. I just can’t seem to figure it all out.

I can count the number of people I’ve opened up to over the years on one hand. Even with these people, I’ve only discussed bits and pieces about my battle with multiple mental illnesses. Quite honestly, being open with others is exhausting. It creates a whirlwind of anxiety.

Am I coming off as a burden? 

Do they think I simply want attention? 

They’ll think I’m crazy and ditch me like so many people have before. 

They won’t understand.

More often than not, these thoughts prevent me from speaking up. That’s why I’m here. I’m done hiding. Why? Because 20 years of silence is enough. Because I’m not the only one suffering. Because those of you with healthy minds need to be aware that others aren’t that fortunate.

But most of all? Because I hope those of you suffering with me can find solace in knowing you’re not alone.