I Have A Secret

I have a secret.

It's very personal.
It's not something that I'm proud of.
It's not something that I talk openly about.
My secret is not something I have control over.
It's something I've struggled with for most of my life,
but didn't know about until much later.
I could probably count the people who really know about my secret on one hand.

And today I've decided to share my secret with you.

About a year ago, I was diagnosed with clinical depression and anxiety disorder.
Although I was just diagnosed a year ago, it's something I can look back and see I've struggled with since as early as middle school.
But as I got older, it got much worse.

I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw.
I always wished that I could be like someone else.
I didn't want to go anywhere.
I didn't want to do anything.
I didn't want to be around anyone.
There were days where all I wanted to do was to lie in bed.
I had panic attacks just thinking about the people I loved the most dying.

All of this over nothing.
Nothing bad had happened.
Everything in my life was going great.
I had no apparent reason for feeling this way.

Have you ever seen this commercial where the little depression blob is following this woman around and randomly turns into a hole she falls into?

That is what it was like.

I remember sitting in my doctor's office a year ago and bursting into tears when he walked into the room.

I've been on prescribed medication for a year now, and it worked great for me.
Don't get me wrong, it was no "cure all."
I still had depression and anxiety.
But I had lots of days where I was happy.

But now, for different medical reasons, I'm having to come off my medication.
And I'm scared.
Even at a lower dose I can already feel it.
It feels like a ton of bricks weighing heavily on my chest.

My depression and anxiety has lead to a condition called
dermatillomania.
Dermatillomania (also known as compulsive skin picking or CSP) is an impulse control disorder and form of self-injury by the repeated urge to pick at one's own skin, often to the extent that damage is caused.

Yep, that's right.
I pick my skin apart.


I know y'all are all asking yourselves the same question,
"Why do you put yourself through that?"


I wish I had an answer. All I know is that I can't stop.
It's brought on by stress, depression, and anxiety.
Sometimes, after what seems like minutes, I look at the clock and an hour has passed by.
And I look at what I've done to my skin.
And I feel guilty.
And ashamed.
And I want to stop.
And I do it again later.

Why did I decide to share my secret with you today?
Because I wanted you to know
I'm real.
I have bad days too.
There are lots of days where my life isn't all
butterflies and rainbows.


And I wanted to challenge myself.
A challenge to be honest with myself.
A challenge to change.
A challenge to stop.
A challenge to be the best me that I can be
with or without medication.


Now that you know,
can we still be friends?