I have never been all too mentally healthy. I was only twelve when I was diagnosed with generalized anxiety and social anxiety disorders and I've struggled with the daily challenges they bring since. But a lot of people already knew that about me. What a lot of people don't know about me (like even the people closest to me) is my mental health struggle does not begin and end at anxiety.
I have struggled with depressive episodes and suicidality for about as long I've struggled with anxiety. Often the two things go hand-in-hand. And it's not something I like to talk about. I don't even like to think about it. But if I don't confront the pain, it stays inside, where it's doing the most harm.
But more recently I have begun to notice something uncomfortable about myself. This July I had what I was almost certain was a manic episode. And I didn't tell anyone I knew in my real life. I dealt with it in my own way. Figuring out what I was feeling, why I might be feeling it, and going from there. And when I drew the conclusion that what was happening was likely mania (or maybe hypomania the difference is hard to tell without a medical professional), I just persevered. I went through it on my own. It was one of the hardest moments of my life, and this is the first time I'm opening up about it since then.
Now, most recently has come the agoraphobia. And I suppose it has to do with the culmination of all the aforementioned problems. They piled one after the other onto my psyche and now I can't leave my room without an extreme amount of panic.
The only reason I am even typing this out now is that I know there is a low likeliness that anyone will ever see it. Because even though there is a part of me that wants to desperately ask for the help I need, it is squashed by a bigger part of me that thinks it will be judged or looked at differently or scrutinized because of it. So I suffer silently.
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