It’s funny.
I don’t write in journals much these days. It’s almost as though we were dating at one point. & then they gave up on me, or me on my journals. I used to give every piece of who I am to the pages in my notebooks. I would pour out my deepest, darkest days. I would ignite inspiration. I would explore my feelings. I would share how I still & have always felt incredibly disconnected to this world. Its something I almost take pride in, feeling that way.

& to an extent I still do feel proud. Sometimes it’s easier to be misunderstood, because then it would be up to you if you ever wanted to explain yourself. I don’t know which is more difficult, sharing or keeping quiet. You would never have to fit the mold of someone else’s expectations for your life. You could just be you & that’s that.

In more recent days my mind won’t stop. I’m constantly thinking of ways to evolve as a human, to separate myself from past sins & mistakes. To leave my future self behind me. & to help others do the same. I’m thinking of how to make an impact. Not in a way that will necessarily have my name out there, but a way to help people.

You see, my entire life I have suffered from anxiety & depression. There was an incredibly hard bout of it that lasted 11 years. 11 long, dark years. It all started when I was 11 & was strong until I was 24. I turned 27 in August. & what’s scary about my journey is not many people knew. I kept it to myself. I was incredibly good at masking the hurt. People would often tell me I was the happiest, most full of smiles person they had ever met. Crazy, huh? Not really. I was happy, under the pain. When it didn’t viciously attack me. I was still under there. & you are too. Only my close friends & family knew. In part I kept it so hidden was because of how ashamed I felt. I hated myself at moments. I had good life. I thought it was all my fault. That my anger, my sadness, my outcry, my pain, all came from who I am. It’s just a part of me & always will be, or so I told myself.

I never wanted to be a statistic, someone a Dr. gave a prescription to (I’ve tried dozens), who you “helped” for an hour as you sat on their couch( I sat on a handful of couches) .. Talking in circles about how your progress is coming. You never make any progress in those meetings. At least I never did. & I despised going but I went because my mom thought it would help & I didn’t want her to worry so much.

There are so many things that tie into the story of someone who suffers from anxiety or depression. So many things people who never suffer just won’t understand, no matter how many times you try to explain it. & that’s the next part of my journey.

Since I’ve dealt with it so closely for most of my life, I want to be able to help those who are afraid to ask for it. I want people who think no one gets them, to come to me. I have had such a calling to do this for a long time. But I’ll admit, Im afraid. Because I’m not a doctor, I have no degree. I just have 11 years worth of the most ridiculous, near crippling anxiety. & I understand. I get you. I am not here to judge. I get you. I’m here for you. I want to see you free from pain. I want you to have someone to listen to your story. I’m here.

So if you feel like sharing, I’d really really love that! So you can get it off your chest. So I can give you advice, if you want any. So we could just talk as friends. So you can feel less afraid to ask for help. & so yu don’t have to feel alone.

Comment below or email me ( if you’d like! & No, nothing you share will ever ever be shared or used for my gain. You have my word on that.

With all the love, Michelle.