To Whom It May Concern
Especially if You’re Struggling Too
To Whom It May Concern, (especially if you’re struggling too).
Hi, My Name Is Annie, and I’m a Recovering Psycho.
Because, you know… I take antipsychotics. So technically, that makes me a recovering psycho. (Yeah, I know, not everyone finds that funny. My mom didn’t laugh. But I did.)
I find humor in the dark because if I didn’t, I’d probably never stop crying. I cry, I laugh, sometimes at the same time — it’s not dysfunction, it’s talent.
So let’s talk about labels.
I’ve been diagnosed with major depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, ADHD and OCD — and yes, all of that can fit inside one brain. Barely.
So what does that actually mean for me?
Depression
It’s not always tragic poetry and rainy window scenes.
Sometimes it’s not showering for three days because the thought of washing my hair feels impossible.
It’s laying in bed and arguing with myself about whether it’s worth it to get up.
It’s guilt — over everything. Over nothing.
It’s feeling like a failure when I do nothing, and feeling like a fraud when I manage to function.
Anxiety
My anxiety doesn’t knock — it kicks the door in.
It’s not “nervous before a test” anxiety — it’s “I think I might pass out in the cereal aisle” anxiety.
It’s obsessing over every word I said five years ago.
It’s the fear of sending a text and the panic when it doesn’t get a reply in 30 seconds.
It’s showing up late because I was panicking, then apologizing too much because I’m panicking about panicking.
ADHD
ADHD means chaos is my default setting.
I can’t organize to save my life—everything’s a beautiful mess of “Where did I put that?” and “Wait, what was I doing?”
My brain forgets appointments, loses keys like a pro, and can’t keep a to-do list without it turning into a novel of unfinished business. Or can’t keep it simply bc I write it and then misplace it.
Trying to focus is like trying to hold water in my hands—slippery, messy, and impossible to contain.
It’s exhausting, frustrating, and absolutely real—but hey, it’s also just part of who I am.
OCD
For me, it’s not hand-washing or flipping light switches.
It’s routines I feel tethered to.
It’s intrusive thoughts that crash in every time anxiety rises — thoughts I didn’t invite, thoughts I hate, thoughts I can’t unthink.
It’s the desperate need for order, for everything to make sense, to feel right —while ADHD scatters my focus, forgets the plan, and leaves everything undone.
OCD wants perfect.
ADHD forgets what perfect was.
The result is war — a nonstop internal push and pull.
Structure and chaos. Fear and distraction.
Overthinking and under-functioning.
I’m not lazy. I’m not broken.
I’m surviving a brain that contradicts itself.
And that takes a hell of a lot of strength.
So yes, I take meds. A cocktail of them.
Antipsychotics to keep my thoughts grounded.
Antidepressants to remind me that life isn’t always grey.
Anti-anxiety meds to lower the volume on the panic.
SSRIs to keep the obsessive loops from swallowing me whole.
Stimulants to help my brain remember that dishes go in the sink, not the closet.
Am I cured? No.
Am I stable? Sometimes.
Am I still standing? Absolutely.
Because Here’s the Truth:
You can be depressed and still have joy.
You can have panic attacks and still be brave.
You can be disorganized, dysfunctional, emotionally exhausted — and still be okay.
Not “okay” in a wrapped-in-a-bow, Instagram-worthy, look-how-healed-I-am kind of way.
But okay in the sense that I am alive. I am trying. I am still me.
And that’s enough.
To Anyone Who Feels Like Me
If your brain feels loud, scattered, or too quiet to even hear yourself think…
If you’ve ever canceled plans because the world felt too heavy that day…
If you take meds and still struggle, or if you don’t and feel like you’re barely holding on…
You are not broken.
You are not weak.
You are not alone.
There’s no gold star for suffering in silence.
And there’s no shame in needing help to exist in a world that wasn’t built with your wiring in mind.
It’s okay if your healing looks like meds and therapy and crying in your car before going inside.
It’s okay if your “functioning” doesn’t look like anyone else’s.
It’s okay if you’re just getting by.
You’re still here.
And that, in itself, is a victory.
So hold on to your truth.
Own your mess.
Stand tall in your chaos.
Let the world see your scars—they are proof you survived.
You are worthy. You are strong. You are enough.
No matter what the noise inside your head says—
You will rise. You will heal. You will be okay.
And I’ll be right here, rising with you.
— Annie
About the Creator
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Comments (3)
'My anxiety doesn't knock, it kicks the door in'. Damn.
I love. your strength
I love the imagery of water falling through your hands. You’re getting better and better with vivid imagery- really brings your work into the mind as well as the heart of the reader Annie. Keep being you, your survival is bringing some beauty into the world.