Every time someone asks me about the scars I have on my arms my chest builds with anxiety. Since I was young I’ve been made fun of for the deep depression and anxiety I carry inside. No one understands, no one cares. I don’t have the courage to explain honestly to anyone where these scars came from because of the reactions I’ve gotten in the past. So when someone asks me what happened to my arm, I just say “I was young and stupid”. When the truth is, I was so depressed as a teenager. I was filled to the brim with anxiety I didn’t know how to handle. I never got the right help because I didn’t know how to ask. I didn’t even know I could ask, I just felt like something was really wrong with me. In middle school kids called me a suicidal freak, people were freaked out by me. In high school I handled my depression and anxiety by trying to fill myself up with false love and comfort from boys who would never really love me. Kids are mean, kids don’t know how to be supportive to something they don’t understand. As an adult, I still get mocked and made fun of for it. That’s the part that isn’t ok. I shouldn’t be made to feel like a freak because I have a mental illness. I shouldn’t be ashamed that I’m more emotional then the people around me. I shouldn’t feel bad that sometimes I need to be alone to just cry. When my leg shakes or I start to zone out it’s because I’m so inside my head that anxiety just takes over. I want to be enough the way I am. I know that being around someone who has as much anxiety as I do is hard. I want to be able to teach my kids to think before they make fun. That person might be suffering and what you say to them might just add to that. We all need to be able to support the people around us with mental health issues. We need to be brave.