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?
