My life, since I was eight years old, has been a roller coaster of emotions. I was bullied badly in school, up until I got into the 11th grade, and then I simply changed my persona to be ‘a bad ass’, but in reality, I was so anxious of people’s reactions. I was molested by my uncle, of whom put up the façade that he was simply trying to teach me what good and bad touches were. I was 11. I was a very sheltered child, I can’t blame my parents for that. In the society I lived in, it was better to shelter me, looking back. I simply wished I hadn’t of hid my inner sadness and fear from them, it would have made my life a lot easier. Why didn’t I tell my parents? Simple enough, when you have a relationship like I did with my mother, and a father who has battled and beat cancer, and doing his best to keep the peace and provide for his family, you don’t want to add anything to the stress.

Living with anxiety and depression, is like living with a porcupine and a teddy bear all in one. If you mess up, or even THINK it might be messing up, you get bombarded with quills. Sharp, painful quills. However, the same thing that was giving you sharp pain, you cuddle with, because it’s the only thing that ‘gets you.’ It’s the reason for the madness, and the only safe place you know. It’s hell in a handbasket, with a pretty pink, glass shard ladled bow. Welcome to my life. Every, single day.

I’ve told lies because of my anxiety, and my depression. It turned me into a habitual liar. Hell, I was so desperate to get people to like me, I’d lie over eating a snickers bar, simply because you ate one, and you’re cool as hell. Now, I have an anxiety about lying. Oh, the irony. I had an anxiety about sex. I have an anxiety about getting into car accidents. If I even fathom the idea it’s going to happen, my heart is in my throat. My mother got into two accidents in a series of three weeks, and I was in the front seat for both. I’m very anxious about being backed against a wall, in both a literal and a hypothetical sense. If we’re in an argument, and I feel like you’re coming at me, I lash out. It’s horrible. If I feel like you’re going to physically hurt me, and now especially my children, my anxiety makes it a million times worse than a normal human being. I lash out, bad. I’ve developed an anger problem from hell because of this mess. I hate it. I’m normally a happy go lucky, trying to make you laugh all the time type of person. When I feel attacked, I change.

My in laws were affected by it too. My lies, simply to make them like me, did a lot of damage. We’ve talked, and come past it all, but the damage is still there. They understand it, and they’ve forgiven me, but it’s still shitty to look back on. No one likes looking back on their shit, especially when it’s hard to control. You think you can calm yourself down, or just get out of a sad moment, but with this, you can’t. It’s like telling that porcupine from earlier to calm down, and getting stuck with quills. You quit after a while, it just makes things easier.

I try my best to help everyone I know. I hate being hurt, I hate being lied to, and I’m anxious as all hell about lying about anything now. Sometimes, I get so worried about people I care about, that I go over the line. I don’t know what normal boundaries are supposed to be like. It’s not fun learning those as an adult, people don’t get why you’re having to go through that process. All I know is, I’m really starting to get tired of standing up for myself, on those rare occasions that I do, and losing friends because of it. If I sit back, and stay quiet and just hold it in, it’s all good. However, when I say something about it, it’s bad. No one likes to look at their own skeletons, I get that, but dang, please don’t make this worse for me than it already is, can we just stop that? It’d be great.

Anxiety and Depression are really hard to live with, and it’s even harder when you have to explain yourself over and over. It almost feels better to be silent, but when you’re silent, the questions remain the same. Can’t you just get over it? Can’t you just be happy? Calm down, why are you freaking out? If only you knew, you’d understand. I’m tired of explaining, I’m mentally exhausted. However, I know I have to keep trying. I have to keep tweaking myself, and work on it. I have two babies who need me to be okay. That’s why I write, so I can go back, read, and remember. I just hope I can help people along the way, who are like me, do the same thing.

11141760_10155516646970632_4371356433943386280_nI’m a 25 year old navy veteran, with a wonderful husband and two beautiful daughters. I have an amazing life that I wouldn’t trade for the world. I’ve battled a lot in my little life, from being bullied and molested as a child, to sexual assault, depression and anxiety as an adult. I’ve overcome a lot, and I foresee more in my future, but all I know to do is live my life the best way I know how, until I learn to do so better. I’m pursing a nursing degree as of right now, and just trying to be the best wife and mother I can be. It’s a learning experience that will last until I kick the bucket.

Amanda can be found on her blog and Twitter

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