I think I'm ready to talk.

When you have depression and anxiety, it's hard to talk about the things going on in your life. You worry that people will think you're making it up for attention, or that they won't care after you open yourself up because they have their own things going on. At least, that's how it is for me, and I've pushed things down for far too long. I think I'm ready to talk. You can listen if you want to. I don't really care. I just need to get out the things that have been trapped inside me for too damn long.

My anxiety isn't a secret, but maybe the fact that I can have an anxiety attack over literally nothing is. I have anxiety attacks because of fake conversations played in my head, because of worries of how other people will react to something I say. I have anxiety attacks over absolutely nothing. My mom told me she was cleaning the house yesterday and told me the upstairs hallway was a mess and I felt that too-familiar tightness in my chest. I wasn't even there. We were on the phone. I was in my car. I felt that too-familiar tightness whilst switching lanes in rush hour traffic today. Anxiety attacks can literally be triggered by anything for me.

Would any of you have guessed that my depression is currently hitting me so hard that I almost don't make it out of bed every morning? The only reason I get up is because I have to provide for bubba. I am the person who keeps him clothed and fed. If I give up, it means he doesn't get what he needs, and that is unacceptable. My child has been my saving grace.

I have an eating disorder. There, I said it. I've struggled with eating disorders for as long as I can remember. Anorexia first, then bulimia. Now? Binge-eating. I've just started owning up to it and realizing that, yes, I have a problem. I go through phases of it where I eat everything in sight, all the time, for a week or so. Then I won't eat for another week or so. Enough to survive, maybe. But no more than that. My body is so well trained for this, it's been happening so long, that because I ate more than once by mid-day, my body figured that we are binging now and I feel hungry all the time. I've eaten three meals and a small snack today, and I'm keeping a food diary to hold myself accountable. I'm putting an end to this. It's been at least ten years, and that is too long.

Last but never least, I was sexually abused as a child. I was six years old. This is something that still affects my every day life and even as I'm typing this, my brain is replaying the memory of him winking at me as I left my daycare center. It wasn't as bad as it could have been. I am thankful for that every day. But it was enough.

These are all things that are a part of me, that have made me who I am. But you'd better believe that they do not define me. It's been 16 years since I was molested. I've struggled with depression and anxiety for 14 years, including 9 years of self-harm (3+ years clean, woot woot!). I've struggled with eating disorders about as long as I've struggled with depression. But I'm done. No more. I'm getting better, for me.

And it's about damn time.