The fear has been with me for as long as I can remember. I don't know if I was born scared or whether the fear first came to me during my childhood, nature or nurture, or perhaps it's something deeper and more difficult to comprehend. In a way, it doesn't actually matter.

The odd thing is how I can't really explain what causes it. What is it that I'm afraid of? Failure? Showing weakness? People judging me? Or perhaps I just can't stand the thought of letting people down of being a disappointment? Racked with guilt for the rest of my days?

A great leader once said, we have nothing to fear but fear itself. A good philosophy. I wish I could live by it, but unfortunately it's not so simple. And of course, mental health professionals will tell you that fear is a perfectly natural response to stress or danger. The fight, flight, or freeze reflex.

I suppose it's imprinted into our DNA. It's how our brain reacts. An instinct that we can't control. But for people like me, the fear, guilt, and self-loathing can become overwhelming. So much so that the depression and anxiety we feel becomes crippling, preventing us from living our lives or functioning at even the most basic level.

Over the years, I've suffered from these negative emotions almost constantly. Medication and support helps and there have been times and even extended periods where I felt content or even happy. But I can never fully get rid of the fear. It's a monkey on my back that I can't shake off.

The story I'm going to recount here isn't an easy one to tell. The incident was the worst time of my life and I count myself very lucky to have survived it.

I've experienced acute mental health episodes before, of course. Periods when I felt so low that I couldn't wash, eat, or even get out of bed for days at a time. Nevertheless, I always knew I could get through these dark periods and come out the other side.

But what happened to me last year went way beyond anything I'd ever suffered before. It was as if all my worst fears and nightmares came to pass all at once and I was no longer fighting demons inside of my own head.

For those terrifying couple of days I was stalked and terrorized by a monster that was all too real. Was this beast a physical manifestation of my depression and paranoia or an actual demon sent from the depths of hell to torment me?

I cannot say for sure, but nevertheless, I think it's important that I tell my story if only to give hope to others facing the darkness. Because no matter how bad things get, there's always a way back.

I was at rock bottom when the beast came from me. My long-term partner had left me following a messy breakup and I fell into pieces of despair and self-pity. I couldn't function properly and missed a lot of work. Eventually my employer let me go and with no job to go to, I no longer had a reason to get out of bed in the mornings.

I was completely isolated by this point, barely leaving the house and not speaking with friends or family. At the time I felt like everyone had turned against me. This wasn't the case, of course, and there were still people who cared about me, but I'd cut them out of my life, refusing to take their calls or respond to their messages.

Again, it's a hard thing to explain. Part of me feared they would judge me, telling me to stop being weak and pull myself together, which of course I could not do.

On the other hand, I rationalized that they were better off without me because I was nothing more than a burden and embarrassment, and so it would be preferable if I disappeared from their lives altogether.

Once you fall into that pit, it's difficult to pull yourself back out again, and the longer it goes on for, the worse it gets.

Nothing can make me feel better. None of the crutches or addictions I'd previously relied on, drugs, alcohol, lust, escapism, nothing worked.

I spent most of my time in bed, sleeping for 12 to 18 hours a day. Sleep was the only escape I had, the only piece I could find.

The world of dreams and memories of better times brought me some respite, but it never lasted.

The worst part was waking up. This was when I remembered who I was and all the problems I had, and then the fear would hit me like a ton of bricks.

The pressure I would experience in that harsh moment of reality would be intense, making me feel like a tube of toothpaste being squeezed ever so tightly.

I would lie in bed with the duvet cover pulled over my head, physically shaking and flinching at every slight noise outside of my bedroom window.

I didn't wash and barely ate, and anything that did pass my lips wouldn't stay down because my stomach was twisted and nots.

...