depression
It is not just a matter of feeling sad; discover an honest view of the mental, emotional and physical toll of clinical depression.
Progression of Depresison
Every morning at 3:30 I reluctantly roll out of bed and take 150 milligrams of Zoloft, a prescribed anti-depressant that I've been on since the age of 12. Originally I had been prescribed it for anger issues. But throughout my physical development as a young man, the anger that derived from the chaotic environment I was surrounded by eventually morphed into depression. That depression has led me down paths in life that a 21-year-old shouldn't have had to go through. Lack of confidence topped with the fear of loss was more then a cloud above my head, but more so a noose around my neck. My anger was unstable. Every encounter with an individual would require an analysis of their character, and a thought on how to break them. Confrontation was comfortable.
By Benjamin Reese8 years ago in Psyche
Broken-Hearted Girl
Carmen had everything she wanted in life. She had friends, she made good grades, and she also ran track. But soon everything started falling apart. Several months before the big incident, she was in a toxic relationship for three months. This relationship took everything out of her because he put her through a lot. After all the lies, the hurt, and secrets, Carmen couldn't take anymore, it broke her. Even though she was only 14 at the time, it was crazy she had to go through something so young. So after months had passed she had cut ties with her ex and finally she was happy again. Carmen is now starting her freshmen year of high school. Which she was very excited for because she gets to see her friends of several years. She had been friends with three of these girls for ten years but one of the girls for a year in a half. She has always been worried about her closest best friend replacing her. But she never thought it would actually happen. Because her and her closest friend had done everything together, they were like sisters. But when a month and a half passed, Carmen got the thought to distance herself from her close friend. Carmen was expecting her to check on her and ask her what was wrong, but she never did. Instead, she hung out with another girl that was in the group but Carmen wasn't so close with her. Carmen's closest friend and the girl became really close which began to take a toll on her. So Carmen kept going on complaining about the situation to her others friends. But one day during all those text messages Carmen snapped, she started taking all kinds of stuff. She started to become suicidal and depressed. The two friends she was talking to at the time decided to tell her they didn't want to be friends with her anymore. That really broke Carmen because she thought they would at least stick by her but they didn't. Now Carmen was depressed, she stayed in bed all day. The only thoughts she had was suicide and it began to tear her apart. So one day her and her mom visited a doctor. As Carmen was telling the nurse what was happening the nurse was documenting everything to tell the doctor; her and her mom thought the doctor would just give her some anti-depressants and recommend a counselor. But it didn't go that way, while they were waiting the doctor was on the phone with a mental health facility. When the doctor came in, he gave a long speech about how he just didn't feel right in sending Carmen home. As he was talking, Carmen and her mom were crying the whole time. Carmen ended up staying a week at the facility which helped her realize she didn't want to go through this again. As she was in the facility she listened to everyone's stories and now she figured out she wasn't alone. She met really nice people, it felt good to her, she met a stranger who showed her more love than people she knew for years. When Carmen was released she was so happy, she was excited to go back home. But the doctor had her on anti-depressants for 30 days which helped her a lot. Carmen was thinking she has to go back to school and face all of them. She went to school for two days and in the end she ended up homeschooling. Now, Carmen couldn't be any happier. Yes, Carmen does miss dressing up for school. Yes, Carmen does miss some of the teachers. And yes, Carmen does miss her favorite sport, track. But she had to give up all of this to make herself happy. If Carmen is ever upset she prays and uses all of her coping mechanisms. Will Carmen ever go back to a public school, who knows? But if you or anyone you know is feeling depressed or suicidal, please tell someone, I promise there is someone you could talk to. There is someone who is going to help you. I promise you are not alone.
By Fantasia Bean8 years ago in Psyche
The Chapter of My Life That Didn't End Happily
I spent most of my senior year in high school losing myself and finding myself again and again. I found happiness in people that would only ever leave me disappointed and empty. That summer I filled the emptiness with alcohol and the pain with ibuprofen. Sometimes, I even mixed the two together to stop the crippling agony in my chest. Even now, in college, I'm doing the same thing. It’s become a mindless repetition, because now they are my crutch. I kiss the boys with more issues than Vogue and fall for the unattainable ones. Most of my friends don't stick around, and the ones that do I push away for fear they will never stay. No one in my life ever has.
By Courtney Locantro8 years ago in Psyche
On Being 17
I have a hard time with a lot of things. Depression, anxiety, school, friends, getting a job, being a decent human being. But one of the most difficult is being alive. Sure I'm happy to be here and all, but I didn't ask for this. Living is hard and pretending I'm alright even though I'm not is hard. These days I have little faith in myself. How could I? At the age of 16, I have gone through what I think is more than my fair share of pain and agony. So many times I see teens my age doing great things. They're changing the world because they want to and choose to, so they do. Then there's me. I'm not sure what my place is or where I'm trying to go. At this point, I'm just existing but not living. For years people have told me that I will do great things and that I'm smart, and if only I tried I could change the world. Now I feel this great pressure to be great. To be better than others. But part of me doesn't want to be. I just want to blend in and live, I don't want to stand out. There are these stupid quotes that say, "Why blend in when you were born to stand out?" But my thing is if everyone is standing out, doesn't that make us all blend in together? Recently I've been thinking about moving away to Canada and starting a new life. Just so that way I can be forgotten. If I live there no one will know me or tell me I'm great or encourage me, I can just be left alone like I want to be. But I know I can't hide from my problems. Not now, not ever. I just don't get why it has to be me. These days I have a lot of time to think. Mostly about life and how it works. Also about things I like and want to do with my life. I want to help others. That's all I know so far. So not much but it's still something. Also, I watched a video recently about Earth and galaxies, and how small we are and it was comforting knowing that I'm little and almost unimportant. I also like knowing that there's a chance that me in another universe is making better decisions than Earth me now. Also, if the idea of other universes is true then that means there's a me who knows what she wants with life or one where I change her world just by being me/her. So I guess that's good news but then again they're not me (even though it is me, just not Earth me) and their good life doesn't help my poor one now. Maybe I need to hone the powers of the other me's and figure this mess out. But until then I need a plan or at least an idea of where I'm going. IDK at this point, I don't even know who I'm writing for. Sure I love writing but even I get bored of listening to my sad story and life. Even I wouldn't read what I write and that's sadder than everything else I've written today. My passion for most things is going away, maybe it's the depression, or maybe it's just me but things are getting harder to control. BUT then there's that part of me that knows that I have the Lord on my side and I don't need to worry because he/she/it has it under control. But it sure doesn't feel like it sometimes. I just don't want to feel like I'm going through this alone. I don't want my life to end before it even begins. What good would that do, then I would be a waste (or should I say more of a waste). I need to pray and trust the process and God, but it's hard to let go of the power over my life. I need trust and faith, and to read the bible more, and a lot of other things but they're second to God. IDK, at this point I'm just spilling out my thoughts on "paper," maybe someone might read this maybe not. That's ok if you or they don't. But these are the everyday thoughts of a 16-year-old trying not to go crazy.
By Laila Brown8 years ago in Psyche
Box of Needles
I remember how school life was for me. I was bullied for my looks, which I understand why; I didn’t have any points of beauty, according to them. My hair was a mess always, although I tried to fix it, but it never worked. My clothes were not as expensive as theirs. I don’t deserve fancy clothes if I don’t know how to fashion myself up anyways. They used to call me naked, because I never wore, or owned, accessories to wear, like they did. The more they put on, the more popular they became. I felt like I was trapped in a small box full of needles. If you move you will be poked. They hurt. But I managed to stay still as possible so I could finish school and start a new fresh life. Everyone hates becoming an adult, not me. It’s my salvation. I am sure that when I grow up and take responsibilities, everyone will look at me differently; I will be respected.
By Hanan Alghamdi8 years ago in Psyche
"Black People Don't Even Do That"
WARNING: THIS ARTCILE MAY BE A TRIGGER FOR SOME. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRESTION. Allow me to tell you a story: I was born into a tumultuous time. My mother was barely 21 years old. She dropped out of college and put her dreams on hold to birth me. She moved back in with her mother to get help with me because she was in an unhealthy, physically abusive relationship with my father. Believe it or not, my earliest memory is from age three. It is a traumatic one. However, my childhood was for the most part “happy.” We took trips, had frequent gatherings at our home, I got whatever I asked for, etc..
By Chanel Fisher8 years ago in Psyche
'Depression Is the Inability to Construct a Future' -Jim Rohn
Since, I can remember, I was always the class clown. I loved seeing the other kids laugh with me rather than at me. It gave me a sense of happiness—something I didn’t have. It all started when I was ten. Jess Shetivik was out for me. Everything I did annoyed her, so she ridiculed me for it. She would turn off the bathroom lights while I was on the toilet and make scary noises, she would spread rumours about me, and worst of all, she would make fun of me. Making fun of someone, pointing out their flaws and why no one likes them, does something to a child. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I finally decided to tell the only person I trusted; my older brother. As soon as my mom died, it was just my dad, my brother, and I. But things changed. I guess my dad couldn't take it, so it was just me and brother. He was all I had. When I told him about what was happening at school, he said something that I’ve held with me for the rest of my life: “You are the most loving and strongest person I know. Those kids are testing your patience. Don't cry, don't fight fire with fire, do what you do best. Show them what it means to be able to defend yourself without hurting the other person.” And that's exactly what I did. The next day at school when Jessie came over to give me my daily dose of criticism, I laughed with her and I could see the fury in her eyes. I destroyed her.
By Jessica Rodriguez8 years ago in Psyche
Postpartum Depression
I think about never having another kid after my first, Gabriel—not because of the pain I endured but because I thought I would have so much more help. I thought things would be different and everyday I wake up and things are just the same. I wither away from everything and darkness consumes me. I want my partner Cody to help me more and he agrees to but every morning it’s the same routine. I try to wake him up to get the baby and he threatens me or gets angry. He then proceeds to put me down and say things like, “It’s easy. I could do this with my eyes closed and you act like it’s so hard,” or “stop acting like you never get to sleep.” It is hard though. I’m 19. I am a first time mom and I’m doing this basically alone. Sure, Cody covers the finances and he tries really hard to help; he does everything basically for me and Gabriel. I’m at home dealing with throw up everywhere and a fussy baby fighting sleep with everything he has, shitty diapers that climb up his back and seeps through onto anything he was laying on, trying to nap, and he wakes up for hours instead of laying back down right away. I don’t just sleep and when I do it’s for an hour or two, and when the baby does take a really good long nap, I have to get things done, like clean, call important places, or take care of me because I am still a person who needs to take care of my hygiene and my well being. It all sounds easy, I suppose, but then my depression kicks in and I’m left doing all these things while feeling the way I do. I can’t just take a minute to lay in bed all day and cry. I have to be up and alert taking care of my baby, then I still find myself nodding out because I’m so exhausted. I say “sleep when the baby sleeps,” but I don’t really do that because even when I try to lay down, I sit there awake thinking about everything, thinking about crying again. I guess what I’m feeling is wrong, and it should be easy but for me it isn’t. I keep looking forward though, keep counting down the days until he will start sleeping through the night and things get easier. I love my son to death.
By Journey Sky8 years ago in Psyche
