By Jessica Spoto

I don’t feel “good.” I don’t ever think I felt “good.” Nights are the worst. Alone, in my apartment, crying, feeling worthless. Just contemplating the day and what I did wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong, but my mind goes to such a dark place that all I can think of is little minuscule things that don’t even matter. I think about the conversations, small talk. Overthinking, agonizing pain over and over, my mind turning so sick. I wonder if I am sick. Trying to figure myself out, I try so hard, yet this mountain is too high to reach the top. When I reach the top, I just fall right back down again.

I have my highs, my highest happy highs without any drugs. I don’t do drugs. What I do is manic episodes of happiness and deep depressions of sadness. I feel broken. I feel left out of society’s normalities. I just want to be normal. Ever since I can remember I have had anxiety and depression. Then later on add some PTSD to that, and a little bit of bipolar. Just a dash of crazy.

I am not crazy, I am just struggling so hard but no one sees that. I mask my hopelessness in pretending to be happy. I smile and say, “Today is a really really really great day!” and to see that person smile because they unknowing think I am happy, gives my heart a little jolt. A jolt of joy. People tell me I am the most positive person they have ever met, but to be truly honest, I am the loneliest person you will ever meet. I am also the most caring. I care so much about people that they just see it as coming on too strong or being too attached. Trust me: I just care. I care because I know so much pain.

 My mind is going in circles on how to end this little journal entry that I am going to let the world see. Hopefully someone out there relates and realizes that it’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to have anxiety, PTSD, bipolar, and any other mental struggles you may face. Just know there is someone out there who cares, truly and deeply.