I was in a constant state of anger and panic, even when I was laughing with friends. There was always this seemingly irrational fear harassing my every move.

I wouldn’t sleep for 3-4 days straight. Often I would end up in places with no recollection of how I got there. What I had (and still have) is PTSD. What I didn’t have then was my voice. I didn’t know how to explain to someone what was happening.

I couldn’t tell myself what I was experiencing was not crazy, or what I was even feeling.

What I learned not long ago is that underneath anger is usually fear and pain. I was hurt, not broken. It’s taken years to heal, and I continue to every day.

It’s ironic though, I didn’t think people within my community would understand. But I gained a voice and now I can hear theirs too.

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In alignment with our mission to encourage others to #SpeakUp about mental health, we’ve created this blog – a passion project highlighting those who wish to share their stories with the world.

Open to anyone, the series features personal anecdotes from members of the South Asian community who have struggled with mental illness – and the stigma that comes along with it.

To submit your story, click here.

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