My life was my own until it spiraled out of control.
There seems to be quite a stigma attached to the term “nervous breakdown”. People associate it with an older or middle-aged person – most likely confusing it with a mid-life crisis.
But I was only 27 when I had mine.
It happened gradually, I didn’t just collapse on the floor one day – which is another thing people seem to assume.
I slowly fell deeper into my depression and developed anxiety far worse than I had ever experienced before.
I was a receptionist at the time and I would find myself crying often at my desk, praying that the phone wouldn’t ring and that no one would walk through the front door, because I just couldn’t deal with it.
I couldn’t deal with anyone, not even myself. I couldn’t deal with life.
There was a time I can remember literally rolling around on the floor, just wanting to somehow escape out of my body and mind. I was so uncomfortable and there was just nothing I could do about it at that point. I wanted to die.
From there on – under the “care” of various doctors – I was over-medicated and offered little support. I felt completely let down by the medical system. I was unable to work for a year.