The anxiety. The crying jags. The feeling of isolation.

When I was originally diagnosed as not only bi-polar, but manic depressive and with general anxiey disorder, I felt as if I had been handed a life sentance without the possibility of parole. I felt as though I had not only let myself down, but my family and friends as well.

I suffered in silence for many years. I resorted to cutting myself as a means to get thru the night. I couldn't sleep, eat or function as a rational human being. No one understood why I was the way that I was. No one made an effort to get to know why I felt this way. Friends abandoned me. I was utterly alone.

I wore long sleeves in the summer to hide the scars that I had so carelessly inflicted on myself. I kept a stash of disposable razors well within my reach. And at the end of the day, I would "punish" myself. I cut to feel better, and for that brief moment, I did. But then the guilt and shame for what I have become would wash over me.

Today,while I am not cured, I no longer cut. But the fear of being alone, the isolation, the profound sadness still lingers on. I can't overcome the saddness and anxiety that I feel. When I am alone in my home, I cry not because I am lonely, but I shed tears for what I have become. A shell of my former self. What was once a person who laughed and loved freely, has now become a recluse. Rarely do I venture out of my home. People scare me. I cannot love freely or laugh.

I live my life in a state of fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the known. I know that I have depression. And I know that depression has me. It continues to rule my life. It dictates who I am and what I do. Depression is a part of me.

Learn more about this author, Melissa Austin.
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