By looking at me, hell, even by talking to me, most people would say my life is pretty normal. Some might even say I’m doing pretty well for myself. I have a great job, my own car, my own house, a beautiful and sweet daughter, my family, a couple close friends, and my cat and dog. I always smile, laugh, apologize, and try my best to be the best I can be. I always seem to have a great disposition and seem very collected and at ease. That’s the thing about perceptions, they can be so deceiving.
#Depression. By definition means having “feelings of severe despondency and dejection”.
#Anxiety. This is “a feeling of worry, nervousness, or unease, typically about an imminent event or something with an uncertain outcome”.
Try having both. Not to mention the lovely #PTSD. No, I was not in the military. Much to contrary disbelief, that’s not the only way you get it. I also suffer from eating disorders that come and go as they please. And lastly, the famous #OCD. Great combination, eh?
Best part of it all, nobody knows. Except my therapist. Nobody can even tell. Which is both a blessing, and a curse.