Depression. Anxiety. I’ve typed and deleted those words 10 times in the last minute. I don’t want to write about that, but I feel pulled to do so.
I hate the shame I feel as I type this. I hate the way my mind tells me I am broken because I struggle. The perfectionist inside doesn’t want anyone to know that some days I just want to stay in bed and hide.
My ego doesn’t want people to know that sometimes I can’t catch my breath because the buzzing inside my head and throughout my body is too much.Read more on themighty.com