A Sister's Love.

My sister, Stephanie, and I are as polar opposite as you can imagine. She is athletic, beautiful, introverted, and street-smart. I am artistic, awkward, extroverted, and book-smart. Growing up, we clashed daily and gave our parents a run for their money. However, through everything we did to each other (including multiple death threats, stealing each others' everything, and constantly beating each other up) we always, ALWAYS loved each other. She is both my foil and my soulmate. Which made it incredibly hard to ever share with her that I was struggling to make it through each day. I wanted to be her strong big sister- the person she could always rely on, the person she could look up to. If anything was ever to take that away, I was worried that I would lose prestige in her eyes. I wouldn't be as important. She would forget about me. Ever since I moved away for college, then graduate school, and now for my first job, I have feared that we would end up like so many siblings- distant and unconnected. She was my first and my best friend. What if my mental illness scared her away?

"The should haves and what ifs will eat your soul."

After being a part of 'This Is My Brave', I knew it was just a matter of time before she found out that I had been hiding such a big secret from her. So, like any terrified adult, I made the grown-up decision to send her a link to this blog and then run away, anxiously awaiting her response. A response that would actually have me laughing, instead of crying like I had anticipated...

"You ain't gotta hide yourself. People got shit going on in their lives and no one should be ashamed to hide anything. In a world full of Bruce Jenners, be a Caitlyn." -Stephanie

That's my sister, y'all. Accepting, loving, and a little weird. 23 years of putting up with one another and I should have expected nothing less from her. I think she always had an understanding that something was not quite right, but that wasn't necessarily important to her. Our relationship is stronger than anything that life may throw at us- mental illness, distance, whatever. I will always be Stephanie's big sister; however, it seems like I still have a lot to learn from her. Thank you, Nan.

Fear No Evil.

I recorded this video a couple of weeks ago, but wasn't sure if the message was one that truly needed to be heard. I am going on a little hiatus for a little while as I travel to Indy to facilitate a retreat for the next week. As I have been preparing for the retreat, I have gotten increasingly more nervous- what if the participants don't like me? What if I screw this up? Fear is the only thing standing in the way of happiness, health, life, etc. Non timebo mala. You may need to turn up the volume a little on this one- sleeplessness leads to mumbly videos.

PS- Shout out to Becky Provost from Arty Party Augusta for my amazing henna tattoo and the brilliant Heather Low for my beautiful "Non Timebo Mala" artwork <3

Bad Eyebrows.

Sometimes, depression can sneak up on you- coming out of nowhere to hit you like a semi-truck. It starts leaving its hints of its arrival days or weeks before it actually settles in. Little things like taking an extra 10 or 15 minutes to fall asleep or not really being hungry come meal-times. For me, there is one thing that always gives away the impending arrival of my old friend depression- bad eyebrows. When I start to fall into a low period, I find myself caring less and less about how I look- I won't take the time to do my makeup or fix my hair or most drastically, pluck my eyebrows. All of a sudden, I will look in the mirror and realize that those two furry caterpillars on my face are the sign that I might need to take a mental health day to take care of myself. How do I feel? Where am I on the scale- 1 being happy and 10 being depressed? Have I experienced any triggers recently? Have I been taking my medication?

They say (whoever 'they' are) that you should never take advice from someone with bad eyebrows. However, I am going to challenge that as I sit in front of my computer screen with some pretty terrible eyebrows that haven't been attended to in about 2 weeks and ask you to take some advice from someone who is still learning to figure out how to navigate the world of depression. Learn what the signs of depression are for you. Whether you have chronic depression or just tend to fall into small bouts of it from time to time, knowing what the signs are will help you get better quicker. You can step in front of the sadness, frustration, and apathy to start addressing what may be causing those feeling. You can can overcome.

Find your equivalent of bad eyebrows. It may make all the difference.

Beyond Brave.

It has been a little over a week since I told the story of my first suicide attempt at the Greenville show of 'This Is My Brave'. It has taken me all this time to figure out how to put my thoughts into words-the fear of backlash that had me holding my breath for days, the numerous stories shared with me as a result of the show, and the overwhelming support and love I have since received. In the audience at the show were several of my most favorite human beings- my mother, my father, my boyfriend, my boss's boss, and 2 of the amazing faculty I work with. While we rehearsed earlier in the day, I couldn't stop shaking and was so anxious that I actually thought about bolting from the room. I couldn't stop thinking about how risky this was- what if my story changes the way that people think about me? What if my parents are angry at me? What if my coworkers see me as incompetent? What if, like so many times before, the audience sees my story as a ploy for attention?

As the time to take the stage drew closer, I sat in the lobby of the venue, practicing my breathing exercises and repeating the silly manta I use to calm myself- you are the sun, you are the moon, you are the stars. I was surrounded by an odd medley of people- a Jewish rabbi with bipolar disorder, a 17 year old beauty battling anorexia, an anxious mother of 2 in whom I saw my future self. As we stood to go to the stage together, an overwhelming sense of calm came over me- I was ready to share my story and I was going to do it with the support of these amazing individuals around me.

Doing 'This Is My Brave' was one of the most daunting things I had ever done. Yet, from that experience, I feel that I have developed a deeper sense of understanding of my own disorder- it isn't something to be afraid or ashamed of. Instead, it is something to share with others, to use to help people suffering through the same diagnosis. There is so much power and strength in being able to talk about what haunts us- we are all battling demons... why not help each other overcome them?

Your story will save lives.

Since the show, I have been blown away by how many people have reached out to me to share their stories about their struggles with mental illness. 'This Is My Brave' opened the door for others to find their courage, to know that they are not alone, and to reach out for help through friendship. I have been touched by the love and support I have received. Individuals that I barely know all the way to friends that have been with me most my life have reached out to express how proud they are and want to know how they can help. My biggest fear going into the show was that my father would be upset by my story- a story that I kept hidden from him for nearly 7 years. Instead, 'This Is My Brave' allowed us to have our first direct conversation about my disorder, address some previous miscommunications, and grow closer as a family.

Finding the words to describe my experience has been challenging, but I think I may have it: 'This Is My Brave' isn't about finding bravery. Each and every performer on that stage found their bravery the moment they decided to get better, in whatever form that may be for them. 'This Is My Brave' isn't about sharing what makes us brave. For many of us, the stories we told are just a snapshot of what we are dealing with. Our battles will never end, yet we have the courage to continue to face them. 'This Is My Brave' is about challenging normalcy and helping others tackle whatever they may be going through by letting them know they are not alone.

Be brave. Always be brave.

Letting It Win.

I am not ashamed of my depression. I am, however, ashamed of what it stops me from doing at times. Today, I should be at work but I know that my day would be better spent resting, recharging, and centering myself. There is always a twinge of embarrassment when I text my supervisor and let him know that, once again, I need some sick time. Many of my friends have an insane number of sick days stored up- I fear the day when I run out of hours because of the doctors appointments or days like today when I can't get out of bed. I am terrified that people think I am lazy or incompetent- a bad employee. This is what depression does to you- it stops you from doing what you love and then piles on the guilt, embarrassment, and shame.

Some days depression is going to win, but that is okay. Sometimes losing a battle brings you one step closer to winning the war.

How's Your Cup?

"You cannot pour from an empty cup. Take care of yourself first."

How fitting for today- I am anxious about the 'This is My Brave' show tomorrow, nervous about my parents visiting this weekend, and sad that so many of my favorite students are graduating next week. All week, my cup has felt bone dry.

And today, as I walked into my office, I was greeted by this little guy: a gift from a co-worker to remind me that my cup needs filling. I need to take care of myself. How's your cup today?

Family Secrets.

When I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder in September of 2009, I made the promise to myself that no one would ever know. I wanted everyone who met me to think I was perfect- an unattainable goal that no one can ever meet. A mental illness would mean that I wasn't perfect; that I was broken and flawed, a reject from God's assembly line. The shame of having a mental illness would drive me to great extremes, including lying to friends, family, boyfriends, and bosses. If my depression chained me to my bed for a day, my excuse was that "my car wouldn't start" or I had "caught a stomach bug". If I couldn't contain my emotions- sadness, anger, anxiety- then I was "just on my period". This sham went on for nearly 6 years. I was afraid that, if people found out about my mental illness, then everything that the depression and anxiety had been telling me would be true. No one would love me. My friends would leave me. My family would be embarrassed of me. As the years (and therapy sessions) went by, I started to overcome this fear and became more and more comfortable with sharing my story with others. First, my sorority sisters, then boyfriends and other friends. But I could never find the courage to talk to my family about it.

I am so very blessed with two of the most amazing parents on the planet, a sister who is both my foil and my soulmate, and an army of aunts, uncles, cousins, second-cousins, and people who aren't biologically related, yet absolutely part of my family. I was so deeply ashamed of my diagnosis- the idea that I could possibly bring shame to them was paralyzing. Mulan had nothing on me...

"Dishonor. Dishonor on your whole family. Make a note of this- dishonor on you. Dishonor on your cow." -Mushu to Mulan, Disney's Mulan (1998)

The thing that truly scared me the most was that I was afraid that they would blame themselves. That they would see my depression as a result of something that they did- that they weren't loving enough or didn't give me enough attention. Often, when trying to process mental illness, people seek something or someone to blame. I was terrified they would think it was their fault, that it would hurt them, or bring them guilt. That would be the farthest thing from the truth ever possible. I had an amazing childhood. I come from a family that bubbles over with love for each other. Although far from perfect, my family is perfect to me. The idea that they may feel like they were to blame for my mental illness felt like it may kill me. I couldn't bare to think of it.

So I decided that they would never know. The manager of our insurance account, my mom knew I was seeing a therapist and that I was struggling with anxiety and some depression- but what college student isn't? She would get the bills from my doctors, so there was no use trying to hide everything from her. But my dad and my sister? I couldn't let them know. I couldn't let the facade of the perfect daughter and sister drop.

That is, until I decided to start this blog. While home for Christmas break this past year, I knew I needed to tell them myself rather than let them read about it secondhand. I sat down in my father's office- him behind his desk, I in the recliner across from him and my mother on the bench next to me. I remember that my mom was doing laundry in the adjacent room so I could smell the clean, fresh scent of detergent- I thought "please help me clean this air, make this easier". Through tears, sobs, and snot, I explained to my parents that I had been struggling with a mental illness for years and that I was going to start sharing this story, my story- with them and with strangers. My dad's response?

"Okay. You know I love you and am going to support you no matter what."

It felt so anticlimactic. I had waited nearly 6 years to tell them that I was sick and the response I got felt so easy and relaxed. Like I had just told them that I was starting a new job or buying a new car. That's when I realized that it didn't matter that I had a mental illness, I was still me. My depression and anxiety had never defined me, thus my family saw me for who I was. I was the one who had built up this idea that their love could be swayed by the revelation that I was not their perfect daughter or sister. Their love would never change- mental illness is no match for a family's love.

And for that, I am most thankful.

In the Middle of my Brave.

Happy Mental Health Awareness Month! Lets spread the word to stop the stigma around mental health. What are you going to do to challenge yourself this month?

Today's Reminder.

Whatever you do, never lose hope. No matter what else is taken from you- hope is the one thing you will always have.

A Follow-Up.

After posting Falling in Love When Depressed, I learned something that I have long tried to preach to my students, yet apparently have not done a very good job at internalizing. Intent versus impact. When I wrote that blog, my intent was to share how I experience relationships as someone with a chronic mental illness. My hope was that the blog would help others that may get stuck in the same routine of self-sabotage when in romantic relationships. When I 'give and give and give', it is not to my relationships or to individuals. It is to my own self-doubt. That is my fatal flaw. That is why many of my relationships have failed. While building a support system over the last 10 years, I have learned that this tends to be a common problem for people who suffer from depression. We do not believe that we are worth the love that is given to us, thus we reject it and hurt our friends, families, and loved ones in the process.

Unfortunately, the impact was that some individuals took to speculation regarding the former boyfriends that I eluded to in the post. The point of the post was not to throw anyone under the bus or paint anyone in a malicious light. I made sure to have an in-depth conversation with the man referenced in "my last serious relationship before meeting datemate" to let him know what I was writing about so that he would know that it was not about him or about our relationship, but about how my mental illness impacts my life. He gave me his blessing. We ended on good terms and continue to be on good terms.

Saying that, I have not always been the most upstanding person when it comes to dealing with exes and failed relationships. I would like to blame part of that on my obsessive behaviors or anxiety or depression, but there is no one or nothing to blame but me. The easy route has always been to hide behind my mental illness; yet, over the last few months I have learned that this doesn't make the hurt go away- it only spreads it wider and deeper. Sometimes hurt makes us say and do terrible, awful things. I have let wounds fester and resentment grow. For that, I am sorry. I am sorry for what I have said about others and for how that may have impacted their lives. I am sorry for who I let myself become at times.

Each relationship I have been in has helped to mold who I am today. However, those relationships are now over and are of our own private business. This blog is about my personal experiences with mental illness- I never want it to be construed any other way.

This is my life, my journey. I am still learning to stay healthy, be a better person, and let positivity prevail. Thank you for being a part of that.

This is My Brave... Almost.

Next Thursday, I am taking my first leap of faith and sharing part of my story with strangers at the Kroc Center in downtown Greenville. The show is May 5th at 8pm and tickets (plus more information) can be found HERE.

Falling in Love When Depressed.

I am one lucky lady. 8 months ago, I started dating one of the most amazing human beings to ever grace this earth. He is a level-headed, introverted gentleman- I am grade A, regulation crazy. It is an odd, but perfect fit. Before I met the datemate (as I so affectionately like to call him), I had let my mental illness call the shots in my relationships. I settled for less than I was worth because my anxiety had me convinced that I did not deserve to be happy. I dated men who saw my depression before they saw me, who used my low self-esteem to grow their own egos, who took advantage of the victim mentality that I had internalized. Although not every gent that I dated fit the aforementioned bill, more often than not I found myself in relationships that fed my mental illness rather than help to overcome it.

In my last serious relationship before meeting datemate, I found myself spiraling out of control, caught in the throws of a major depressive episode. I had lost myself in my attempts to be "good enough" for someone that I had placed upon a pedestal- they had lived through pain and come out on the other side okay; maybe I could to. I gave and I gave and I gave of myself until I had nothing else left to give. In the end, I had my heart broken because I had finally given so much that I was a shell of a person. When there was nothing left, he was gone thus throwing me even deeper into the cycle of self-loathing, depression, and unbearable hopelessness. We are both left to blame for this failed relationship, yet I am the only one to blame for what it did to me.

Being in love with someone else when you have a hard time loving yourself is incredibly difficult. I have been so amazingly lucky to find someone who is willing to teach me how to fall in love- both with him and with myself. There are days where I will ask "are you sure you love me?" a dozen times or will obsessively replay conversations in my head, convinced that datemate is going to break up with me over a misplaced word. Fortunately for me, it doesn't matter how many times I need to ask for reassurance or how many times he has to drive me to McDonalds for a post-anxiety attack Happy Meal. Datemate sees how a mental illness impacts me, but he does not let it define me or our relationship. I am not my depression or anxiety- something he knows well and does a fantastic job of reminding me of.

Beyond building a strong relationship with a foundation of trust, understanding, and patience, we are partners who attempt to push each other to be better people- not just for each other, but for ourselves. He reminds me to take my medication (a fitting job for a pharmacist), always makes me feel beautiful, and gently lets me know when I am letting my anxiety or depression speak for me. I pull him out of his shell, challenge him with new experiences, and always have a stupid pun or one-liner ready to make him smile. Although I have said the 3 most daunting words in the English language to many people, I don't think I ever truly knew what "I love you" meant until now.

Love will test your patience, challenge you, force you to face the ugliest of things within you, show you how wonderful life can be, build you up and then tear you down. The ups and downs are what make love the best therapy- by learning to love another, I have started to learn how to love myself.

"Do not bring people into your life that weigh you down. Trust your instincts. Good relationships feel good. They feel right. They don't hurt. They're not painful." Michelle Obama

April Fools.

"Am I a fool? I don't think I'm a fool. But I think I sure was fooled." - Kenneth Lay

This year, I almost got through April Fools without incident. That is, until about 6:00pm, when I received a text message from my boyfriend (who happens to be a pharmacist at a children's hospital) that explained that he was involved in a medicine error that caused a child serious brain damage and could have cost him his job and license. Looking back, this was probably hysterical as I texted him asking if everything was okay and then sent a slew of expletive-riddled tirades about how mean he is after he broke the news that it was all a joke. I mean, any logical person would have probably seen through his ruse because how likely was a 1-in-a-million error like this to happen on April Fools Day.

However, there is something different with an anxiety brain. Instead of thinking "oh, he must be joking", I immediately jumped past the thought of April Fools and started running through every worst case scenario in my head- how would I support us both financially? What about the dreams that we have created together?  How can I manage my depression and the inevitable depression that would come from a situation like this? What if he becomes suicidal?

As I sat in my living room- waiting for the punchline, my stomach twisted into knots, I felt like I would vomit, and I started breathing exercises to avoid a full-blown panic attack. None of this is logical, yet it is something that I experience often. An email that come across as scolding, a text message that seems too short, or a frustrated glance can trigger feelings of anxiety- what did I do wrong? Is there something wrong with me? Is everyone mad at me? Am I annoying? April Fools Day is my least favorite day throughout the year, as it seems to play into my anxious mind and thus turns me into a hot mess express headed towards dysfunction junction.

My poor, sweet, amazing boyfriend then felt the needs to apologize over and over again, as he never intended to trigger my anxiety. He felt bad that he upset me; I felt bad that he was feeling bad. This amazing human being, who supports me through thick and thin, loves me for all of me, and tries his best to understand my mental illness, tried to play a little joke that (on anyone else) would have been hilarious and my anxious brain turned the entire thing into an ordeal.

One positive thing has come from this whole experience- forgiveness. Although salty for a few hours, I did forgive the datemate for freaking me out. He forgave me for the harsh things I said in a state of anxiety. But most importantly, I forgave myself. Many times I have found myself replaying similar situations and getting angry at myself for being overreactive or overemotional. I have anxiety- it is going to cause some awkward situations, but that's okay. My anxious brain doesn't control me- I can forgive myself and I can live a life bigger than my mental illness.

Dream Big. Do Bigger.

I have always been somewhat of a "head in the clouds" kinda person- imagining the world how I would like it to be and the person I hoped to become. When I was in 1st grade, I was actually nominated for & won the Disney "Dreamers and Doers" Award for enacting positive change in my community. As a 6 year old, I had no idea what that truly meant- to be a dreamer and doer- and yet, that has become such a huge piece of who I am today. As children, we all have crazy dreams. I wanted to be a figure skater, country music star, crime scene investigator, wife by 21 years old, and mother by 25 years old. None of that really worked out and I am REALLY thankful that it didn't- I am sure as hell not ready to be a momma and I pass out at the sight of blood so CSI definitely wouldn't have worked out well. Dreams evolve and grow, they give us vision for the future, and are the driving force in helping us find our path.

Somehow, between becoming a figure skater and landing my first job as a fraternity/sorority life advisor, my dream became to help, inspire, challenge others through the power of storytelling. Today, that dream came true. Today, I joined ForCollegeForLife as a professional college speaker, dedicated to breaking down the stigma surrounding mental illness and advancing fraternity/sorority life. A dream that seemed so unreal, so impossible came true today.

For years, I have told myself "not yet, you aren't ready, you can't do this". I have sifted through doubt, fear of failure, and self-set boundaries. The one thing, the only thing that can help overcome this overwhelming feeling of "I can't" is a deafening, resilient, unwavering sense of courage. Courage to dream big and do bigger. Where's your courage? What would YOU do without expectations, boundaries, or fear of failure? Do that.

"Have the courage to touch the butt" -Finding Nemo

Meet Minnie.

"Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep."-Scott Adams

The day before I was leaving the state for a business trip, the woman who has been my rock since I moved to South Carolina (hi Liz) came into my office with the cutest, sweetest little puppy in the entire world. As soon as I laid eyes on her, I started to cry. I knew that this little runt of a pup was going to be mine.

I immediately rushed with my friend to see the co-director of the local Humane Society that was fostering Minnie. I would have done ANYTHING to adopt Minnie, but it was as simple as filling out an application and promising to make Minnie's foster parents her permanent god-pup-parents. Imagine Kristen Bell's sloth meltdown (Google it). That was me when I got the word that Minnie was mine- ugly crying all around.

Our First Picture Together

Minnie is my first puppy. I have been a cat mom for almost 7 years now- raising a puppy would be easy, right? ABSOLUTELY FREAKING NOT. From peeing on the carpet, to biting everything in sight, to chasing the cat around, to jumping on furniture, to scratching people. EVERYTHING WAS HARD.

Days after I adopted Minnie, my (amazing, adoring, wonderful) boyfriend sat me down and told me that he thought getting Minnie was a mistake. As I sobbed hysterically and asked him if he wanted me to give her back, he calmly explained that he would never ask me to give her back and this conversation wasn't meant to make me feel bad. Instead, he was simply pointing out a lesson that he had recognized early on, but I had not yet fully grasped.

Minnie is my perfect mistake. Was I impulsive in adopting her? Yes. Did I get in WAY over my head? Absolutely. Is she one of the best things to ever happen to me? Hell yeah. Minnie has taught me selflessness and responsibility, and has inadvertently become my greatest therapy. I can't let myself stay in bed for hours. Minnie needs to go potty or needs breakfast. I can't let my anxiety take over. Minnie feeds off my anxiety which leads to a very stressed pup.

Now I am not advocating that everyone who is struggling with a mental illness go get a puppy and that everything will magically get better. See my previous blog about Addycat for reference. I was in the right time of my life with the proper financial stability, a network of people to help me, and the dedication to take care of, train, and love Minnie. Even with all of the logical factors in place, adopting Minnie has been one of the biggest challenges I have taken on thus far...

and I wouldn't change a damn thing.

The Beginning of My Brave.

Last Thursday night, I went to the cast party for the Greenville production of the "This is My Brave" show. A group of about 12 beautiful people who were all struggling with or have been touched by mental illness sat in a circle to openly talk about their experiences. There were a variety of mental illnesses that could be found in that room- schizophrenia, PTSD, bipolar disorder, anorexia, depression, and anxiety. I have never been more uncomfortable in my life. Not because of the people surrounding me- they made me feel courageous and strong. But because that was the first time that I talked about my disorder with other people who have experienced the same thing that I have been struggling against for over 8 years. I felt validated, like I wasn't a crazy person or someone seeking attention or someone with an attitude problem- all things I have been called after being open about my illness in the past. It was therapy of sorts to be able to tell my story and be met with smiles, nods of support, and applause after years of being met with eyes full of sympathy or concern.

"This is My Brave" is about breaking down the stigma- that it is a weakness or something to be ashamed of- attached to mental illness by the telling of stories through various mediums like music, poetry, or essays. By drawing attention to mental illness, we create a world of understanding that makes it safer and easier for individuals to express themselves and overcome their illness. We break down the stigma imposed by society.

Never would I have thought that the internal stigma that I have carried for so long would also be broken down. I have always been afraid that I would be treated differently if people found out that I had a mental illness. That the looks of sympathy or concern or disgust would eat me alive. That no one would ever be able to accept me for the whole person that I am- depression and anxiety included. However, walking into that room, I was normal. Better yet, I was the NEW normal. The normal where it doesn't matter what mental illness you are struggling with because who you are as a person is more important than your diagnosis.

[Cough, Cough] I'm Sick.

Rambling & Medication.

This one is a little bit harder to post- I don't like sharing this part of me. I feel vulnerable, nervous, and scared. But this is important and something that isn't talked about enough... medication can be so helpful in managing a mental illness and yet, there is such a stigma and misconception surrounding it. There is no weakness in relying on medication to make things easier to cope with. It actually takes great strength to seek help.

Self-Fulfilling Prophecies.

Have you ever been to Charleston, South Carolina? If not, put it on your bucket list. This weekend, I spent 4 beautiful days with several coworkers turned friends turned family. Being around these brilliant, loving people in such a calming and wonderful place filled my soul and gave me the energy to keep king on this semester after weeks of trouble and stress. Realizing how fortunate I am to have this army of support around me caused me to pause and reflect upon how rare this can be for someone struggling with depression or anxiety. Often, the support is there but our brains won't allow us to accept it.

Mental illness is not rational. There are days where I catch myself stressing over whether or not I am too much of a burden on the people who love me, if I am deserving of such amazing friends, or if people just pretend to like me because they feel obligated to. I constantly fear the day that my best friend will push me away out of disgust or the day that my boyfriend will break up with me because he has realized that I (and my depression and anxiety) are truly too much to handle.

In the past, this has created many self-fulfilling prophecies. I believe that my depression and anxiety will become too much for others, thus I push them away before they have the chance to see the person behind the illness. I will ask over and over again "are you sure you still want to be with me?" My constant worrying and need for confirmation will come across as needy or insecure or just plain annoying. The relationship ends in heartbreak and again, I feel like I am not good enough or a burden or undeserving.

Being plague by these feelings of doubt and fear is far worse than any rejection I have ever experienced. The day that I realized that I could be loved and, better yet, deserved to be loved was the most liberating day of my life. Depression and anxiety is a part of me and therefore, often becomes a part of my relationships. However, it does not have to define them. Yes, I still ask my boyfriend if he is absolutely positive that he still wants to be with me on a weekly basis. Yes, the thoughts of self-doubt still pop up every time someone is short with me during a conversation. Yet instead of letting myself fall into the cycle of cataclysmic thinking, I pause and ask myself where these feelings are coming from. I remind myself that I am loved because I deserve love.

Love is the Achilles' heel of depression and anxiety.

An Episode.