After struggling for years with some degree or another of depression and anxiety, I had my first panic attack last night.
My husband, faithful and unwavering, sat up with me in bed as my head grew increasingly lighter, my lungs struggled to stay full, my face tingled, and heart raced.
And all day today, I have felt the fatigue. I feel as though I’ve run a marathon with no training whatsoever.
In the hours that preceded the panic attack, I admitted that I don’t like the way my life looks right now. At twenty-three years old, I’m still struggling to figure out who I am. And a lot of times, it feels like I’m floundering, grasping vainly at straws in the middle of a crowd who has it all figured out.
Obviously, that’s not actually true. But we all tend to be absorbed by thoughts that we are the only one with this struggle or facing that trial. All the while, pretending to have it together.
Read more at Hashtag Hope.