Having an invisible disability is a strange thing. Sometimes you think it’s glaringly obvious, like your disability is written across your forehead in permanent marker. You fear that everyone you meet is making presumptions about you, jumping to conclusions.
Other times it’s so concealed that even you question whether it’s real. There is, after all, no concrete scale to measure mental illness with. It’s easy to get yourself into a rut and convince yourself that what your illness is all made up, some sort of desperate ploy for attention. You feel ashamed and embarrassed that you can’t cope like others can. You worry that your failures are inexcusable and a reflection of your vices rather than your disability. You begin to question your self-worth and mental strength. And scariest of all, you fear that things will never change.
But there’s strength in trying and seeking support. With action comes hope.