Last year I moved to a completely new town and besides, to a new country. To a place where people barely greet each other and where the wind blows so hard that you never see the sky out of those heavy and grey clouds. Pretty helpful for any mental issue, huh? Everything started falling apart. I would get myself out of bed at 2PM. When I looked at the mirror I felt like it was not me. Like it was someone else in my body. I stared deeply into my own eyes and I could not recognize them. I would do my dishes, or to be exact, the dishes that where necessary to do if I wanted to eat a yogurt. You can imagine how much work that means. But those days where the good ones. At least I was eating. Usually the dirty dishes were waiting for me for a week or two. Thinking back, I don`t think I even noticed the sink and kitchen table being that much of a mess. I just could not care less. There where days I suddenly got scared cause I had not been eating for four to five days. When that happened the little light in my brain would shout the orders again; you need to eat, normal people do eat. So I did. I wanted to feel normal. Fake it until you make it, they say.  Staring the clothes rack in my tiny studio I guessed that the clothes had been hanging there for a month. I kept my curtains down because I felt anxious again. What do my neighbours think of me? Curtains were down all day long and the light was still switched on at 2AM in my studio. I was scared leaving the house for groceries. The cashier would see it from my eyes that I had not been sleeping well for ages and there must me something in me telling her that I was not doing well. That I was not normal. Rather sick but not in a way people think we are sick. My nose was not running, there was no broken leg. Was it all in my head or would people see it too? I was becoming crazy. My mind was not with me. We were like two separate things. My mind was taking the lead and my body was following like a puppy. But the leader was crazy. Or lost herself.  Then the anxiety hit me again. What if I died in the studio in the middle of that mess and dirty dishes? People would figure things out; she was not normal. The worst case scenario was that the truth would be discovered by my family. So I immediately started cleaning up the studio. If there was a knock on the door, at least the visitor thought I was normal. A positive thing about my anxiety and depression is that to me it appears that when depression walks in and takes the lead, anxiety will pull me out of it somehow and vice versa. I still do not know which one is the worse leader. Love, X