In July 2019, my emotional house of cards came crashing down around my ears. The foundation that I stood on for so many years and thought was so thick and solid, now was crumbling beneath my feet. While I was at work I exhibited what I thought was a heart attack but turned out to be an acute anxiety attack. The pounding in my chest and shortness of breath scared me. I retreated to a comfortable chair in the women’s bathroom, not more than a few seconds after I had sat down, I broke into uncontrollable crying and wailing. I had only exhibited this type of reaction one time before in my life and I was able to calm myself down, this time I couldn’t even console myself. I called for help and the company provided a person to come in and help me. I was transported to the emergency room and later found my way to my primary doctor for help. The company put me on two weeks of medical leave as this wasn’t something that was going to be fixed overnight. After speaking to a therapist and scoring high on a depression evaluation and even higher on an anxiety evaluation, I left the office with a anti-depression medication script. I sat in my truck looking at it in my hand, all I could see was my failure. My failure of holding it together, that box that I had put all those emotions in for years had now burst at the seams. I wasn’t good enough, smart enough, nice enough, pretty enough. This is what mental illness has done to me I thought, filled me with shame and braiding thoughts that I was now turning inwards. The stigma of being mentally broken, a broken toy.