Subject line: I am in a battle.

 

ogden, utah.

I battle with anxiety. I battle with depression.

Those two sentences are new to me. Growing up, I thought that anxiety and depression were for the weak. Those words were foreign to me. I have been in denial for most of my life.

Six months ago I got married. The light of my life whispered tenderly one day, “You can’t keep living like this. I think you need to see a doctor.” I didn’t know what he meant until he strung a sentence together that would make any doctor cringe. The obsessive compulsive behavior, the night sweats, the tears, the dread, the starving and binging, the shakey hands and wobbly legs. These things happened weekly, over insignificant terrors.

So I went to my childhood doctor. The doctor who would tap my knees with that funny tool and watch me giggle. The doctor who would check my heart beat and make a joke so the pounding would slow. This is a man who knew so much more about me than I imagined. He told me to explain my problems, my feelings and everyday thoughts. He teared up at times. And when I was done pouring my soul into the tiny office, he softly explained that I had a chemical imbalance. That this was no way to live my life. He put me on a medication and promised me that if taken as directed, it wouldn’t make me a robot, but smooth the lakes and valleys that had been beaten into my heart.

I battle with anxiety. I battle with depression.

Breathe.