The Hardest Thing I’ve Ever Done

I was recently playing a game with some of my closest friends in which we all simply answered whatever question was drawn from the bucket. The questions ranged from “what would your ultimate birthday party entail?” to “who would you delete from you life if you could? And why?”. I typically enjoy games like this. I like getting to know my friends in ways I don’t already. I feel closer to them after a round is done. One of the questions found me at a standstill though, and we, as a collective group, decided not to answer it. I’m sure this is because the others found it difficult and a tad bit more personal than they were comfortable answering as well. But, the question got me thinking. And the question was: “What is the hardest thing you’ve ever done?”

In my 18 years of life I haven’t had a “hard” life. I have two wonderful parents, who, although we argue sometimes, support me in every single one of my endeavors. I have a little sister who can be the bane of my existence at points, but is also one of my best friends. I also go to a wonderful college and have made fantastic friends there. Middle school wasn’t awful for me, and I really transformed into a person I’m proud to be throughout high school. But, that does not mean I have not had my share of rough times. I even find myself at a loss when I am faced with the decision of choosing which one was the hardest.

The top contenders for the “hardest thing I’ve ever done” have happened in the past six months. I have experienced excruciating heartbreak; it was something I would never wish on anybody else but helped me grow into a tough person who can take what life throws at her. I was diagnosed with two mental illnesses at the same time (General Anxiety Disorder and Depression), but this experience too has made me stronger. Going through both of these things has made me who I am today.

I believe that the hardest thing I have ever done is reach out for help, to accept that I wasn’t going to get better on my own. I’ve always believed that I am a strong person, and I felt that opening up to others and allowing myself to get help in solving my problems would be to accept defeat. But, it is the opposite. Getting help for my mental illnesses and when I was at the lowest of lows after the breakup was one of the hardest, yet strongest things I have ever done. It did not make me weak to need help, it made me stronger. Because two is better than one. And sometimes we all just need a little help.

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