Getting through the day, juggling multiple tasks and accomplishing daily goals, can be a struggle for anyone. But doing this while also having anxiety and depression makes the day-to-day life even more of a challenge. Not only do thoughts of others’ opinions become heightened, but the negative voice inside my mind gets louder. It’s as if the world’s worst bully got on stage and made a PowerPoint about everything I did wrong in the last week, day, or hour. What makes it worse is that others do not understand it, and they do not even try. It feels like nobody cares.
Getting out of bed in the morning, which should be a simple task, may sometimes be a fight. Just me versus my own thoughts, racing through like poison darts. Each one takes aim and hits a bullseye on my self-esteem. When I do get up, every other task I try to complete is either incorrect or incomplete. I try to wash the dishes. It’s not enough. I try to garden. Then I see my fresh potted lilies wilted in the sun.
Everything is bleak. Everything is gray.
When I go to work, I move at a steady pace. Each task is a battle unfolding on a different war front. There’s the one deep in the inner trenches of my mind, the hand-to-hand combat as I push on with my assignments, and then there are the sonic blasts from my coworkers whose mouths send off rockets as they tell me what I’ve done wrong. Everything they say sounds like criticism. I’m not sure if this is reality or just anxiety-fueled perception. Either way, driving home is a blessing. But then I am once again met with those lonesome moments where I just sit on the couch with the TV on. I stare at the screen and my mind presses play and rewind again and again. I think about all of the mistakes I made that day, and it never stops. The constant stress that comes with this pushes me further down into the darkness of my depression.
But there is hope. I am seeking help with this, and I am trying to talk about it more. I have concerned family members and friends that want me to talk about it, and I have a kind psychiatrist who does seem to want to help.
And I think that now that I have opened up about it, the stigma that I felt has shrunk. I do not think it cures me of this wretched turmoil. But it is a start.
Let’s see where this goes.
–This is based on the experiences of a loved one.
This post was written by Michele Wroblewski. Please send any questions or concerns to firstname.lastname@example.org.
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