**Full Disclosure: Emotional Post*

      This picture was taken exactly two years ago.


As happy as I look in that moment, I wish I could explain to the full-extent the way I felt inside. The way that I felt that entire week and the weeks before.

        This was on a Wednesday, Cleveland State was celebrating our homecoming weekend outside of the student center & it was luau theme. This day I ate food with my friends, laughed with my friends, and crushed them all in limbo. I had a lot of fun during the celebration – how could I not? I was surro-

unded by my closest friends and we were celebrating with food & music.

But what you don’t see is that this was the first time I had left my apartment since the Friday before. I was skipping classes, I wasn’t going to softball practice, I wasn’t going on 15 mile runs or lifting at the gym.

I was in my apartment laying on my floor wrapped in blankets, crying over things I couldn’t explain.My hair was greasy, I hadn’t eaten in days, and my text messages were unanswered. I felt empty, I felt useless, I felt like I wanted to die.

This wasn’t the first time I had gone through those kind of days – but it was the worst of them yet. When I went outside I couldn’t catch my breath, even when I wanted to go do what I loved I didn’t have the energy no matter how many hours I slept.

I specifically remember a phone conversation with my sister in Pittsburgh, I cried and she asked why and I just told her I felt really sad. She cried with me and told me to call a friend over – I explained that moment to my school psychologist & he encouraged me to consider medication.

I’ve always been quick to tears – I get angry when I can’t explain it. My hands sweat when I’m nervous and I lose my breath when I’m anxious. I’ve always chalked it up to being an emotional person, slightly unstable, I had insecurities and I assumed that was the explanation.

After meeting with a doctor and discussing the prior weeks (and years of my life) it was defined – high-functioning anxiety & severe clinical depression.

I told myself I’d never let it be known that I’m medicated and educated on my mental illness – because the stigma surrounding it is negative. But no one would deprive a diabetic of their insulin, so why is it that as soon as I need a serotonin inhibitor I’m all of a sudden a big old wuss.

You may not need it, but I hope you understand that what you need and what the people around you need are not the same. I might be able to remember that day two years ago with full-clarity, but maybe that’s because I haven’t had a moment quite that bad since then.

If you or someone you know is struggling with depression I encourage you to reach out for help and guidance


Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 available 24/7

Today is my reminder that life isn’t just work and it’s not just about women.





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