NO LIMIT

I'm writing this a bit late, as you've probably noticed it's not July 4th anymore. But I have a very good reason for this. You see I have PTSD and no I'm not a veteran. There's this stigma that PTSD is a veteran's illness and that others don't have the right to claim it. At least that has been my experience. People seem to try and either downplay mental illness or gatekeep it as though it's meant only for a select few. Forgive my french but that's hogwash.

Our relationship was like a game of snakes and ladders that we had been waiting 2 years to play. 2 years is how long we knew each other before he finally asked me out on a date he would not bail on. We started out at the bottom of the board but we were happy and quickly working our way towards the top. Things moved rather quickly, we were at the madly in love stage by week 2, saying I love you and I miss you every 5 minutes. By week 5 I could not help myself, I proposed and he said yes. Within 3 months we were living together, everything seemed to be going really well, we even had the normal ups and downs along the way just like any other relationship, but we were happy sitting at 98 on the board. But then Bam! I rolled a 1 and slid all the way back down the bottom of the board with a positive pregnancy test 5 months in. I’m pretty adamant he actually fell off the board when I told him. To me that was when things appeared to get worse in our relationship, but oh how wrong I was about that! It turns out things actually started going downhill at the start of week 4 when he took some photos of up my dress while I was asleep. I am just so grateful that I had underwear on in the photos, especially since I did not find out about them until we were in month 7 of our relationship.

My anxiety started when I was young. I didn’t know there was an actual reason why I was anxious all the time. Growing up I would pick on my skin causing bruises and scars. I just thought I enjoyed the pain but later found out it was because I have anxiety and when I pick at my skin it became a regular habit.

For those of you who may know me, you know my story. For those of you who don’t, my names Tracy and I am sick. I have two mental illnesses. One that I was born with, Bipolar Disorder. The other is BPD, Border Line Personality Disorder. Mental health professionals have been saying for years they want to change the name of the disorder. Because BPD is not in fact a change in personalities. It’s a disorder of emotions. I feel each and every emotion to an amplified extent. How they say there’s no gray area, it’s all just black and white for us border liners. When we are happy we feel like we are being shot across the sun flying into a parade of fireworks, drifting off into the Red Sea in the Mediterranean. When we are depressed our chest feels hollows, the emptiness physically hurts us (we can feel the pain in our chest) we feel intense suicidal ideation and believe we are a burden to our loved ones and they’d be better off without us. BPD is a back and forth of depressive, angry/irritable and happiness/feelings of euphoria episodes. Its getting stuck in the episodes and knowing you are stuck. Being intelligent but knowing your mind can’t think rationally until the episode ends. It’s mood dysregulation and snapping on the people around you just from the slightest trigger. It’s having a hard time with interpersonal relationships. It’s having a sex addiction, alcohol addiction, suffering from other mental illnesses as well, having symptoms of every mental illness put into one disorder And having eating disorders. It’s having erratic behavior. And unintentionally pushing people away by overreacting. The worst part for me is my fear of abandonment. I’m scared all the people that love me will one day leave me. Incase you were wondering I was not born with BPD. I had the genetic inclination to develop a personality disorder. But my environmental factors brought it out. It’s a learned behavior. It’s a coping mechanism I learned from my trauma. Here’s how my parents gave me BPD.

The title sounds kind of intimidating... right? From all of the cliché horror stories you’ve probably heard, there’s no wonder why you’re here. Are all of those creepy stories true? What is it REALLY like in those places?

Dear (Suburban) Black Girl,

On February 15th a 40 year old woman took her own life. I may not have known her, but she was one of the 7 billion+ humans I share this planet I call home with. She had a life to live, family and friends who loved her, and so much left to add to the shared experience we are all living through. But n0w she's gone. And though I didn't know her, I can't help but feel pangs of genuine anger and sadness.

An Open Letter to Lady Gaga -

“No one is going to hold your hand if it looks like that,” I remember the first time that you told me that. Eight years old, I had chewed my nail and picked the cuticle so badly I was bleeding. “I just need a bandaid,” half embarrassed, with zero understanding of how anxiety can manifest itself.

Who is Patrick Bateman?

The physical health of Europeans is improving, yet the same cannot be said for mental health. Whereas public health has been a priority, it is mostly focused on physical health and disease prevention, with mental health being secondary. Nonetheless, suicide accounts for 1.4 percent of deaths worldwide and is the second most prominent cause of death amongst young people. The act of suicide should not be considered an individual issue, but rather one that affects that person’s family, their surroundings and society in general.

Hey everyone. So it’s fair to say I’m pretty new here. But something kept pushing me mentally, to just finally share MY story. I’m sure you’ve probably read lots of war stories, overcoming drugs and other life changing turn arounds. My hope is for someone who truly needs a boost or a little faith, comes across and reads this article and it lights a spark in their brain. Where do I even start? I was a simple woman for the most part, however my childhood was always filled with some underlined trauma. I had 3 beautiful kids, (now 4), I had my own place to live, I worked 2 really great jobs. One as an engineer and the other as a Hotel resort operator. It was December of 2017. I thought it’d be a good idea to move the kids and I back into my mothers home (I was a single mother at the time). I figured, this could be nice, the family all back together again, more time with mom right? WRONG. I felt empty still. I had everything, So why would I feel this way? I was always upset and aggravated if I had to chase the kids around the house for baths and dinner time and I was feeling overworked with my 2 jobs. I wouldn’t know by the end of that December, I was making the biggest worst decision of my life. I decided to hang out with an “old friend” from high school. I can’t believe I worked so hard just to invite stagnant people from the past back into my life. I never really made the best of choices, but this one takes the cake. Long story short, the friend was a male and he started exposing me to all of these substances I’ve never done. I’ve always smoked pot, drank occasionally. But this was different. I knew better, but the rush kept bothering me. He would shoot and snort cocaine and heroin in front of me saying “don’t do it” but at the same time trying to get me to do it... like “don’t do it” unless you can “handle” it. Me, being the trauma filled gullible Moron that I was, I let this guy inject me with a needle filled with cocaine and heroin. First coke then dope. I also tried crack along with the other drugs. I’m sure you can guess The next 6 months. By March of 2018, I had lost everything. My children, my family, my mom, my jobs. All of it. I couldn’t believe it right before my eyes. All because of drugs, after March I was begging people for money and doing things I should’ve never done for it. June 2018 I reached out to a friend I’ve actually met through the drug addict who got me hooked. He seemed level headed. No drugs. So I begged him for help, until he finally did. He spent over $2600+ on me, trying to get me places to live, supporting me with food and clothing. Everything. I would run away every week to do drugs while he would always try to stop me. On September 11th 2018, it would be my last time smoking crack and using drugs. The friend who helped save my life showed me a movie called Super. About a drug addicted girl who gets saved by her boyfriend who does plenty of Heroic things in the movie. I got clean after watching it. No rehab. No 12 step programs. No Narcotics Anonymous. Till this day, I will be exactly 2 years clean on September 11th, 2020. I don’t have it all together quite yet, but I’m still beyond blessed and grateful to be alive today, and to be sharing my story with you all. I also now have a beautiful 6 month old son. Another addition to my family. There is hope. Much Love. ❤️

If we’re being honest, I believe ninety percent of people have called in sick to work without actually being sick. Personally, I’ve perfected the “I’m sick” voice on the phone and have even learned to throw in the occasional fake cough. My fake reason for calling in sick has been the same on various occasions. The truth is I actually don’t feel well, however the feelings are self induced. For years I had a problem with drinking alcohol and I'd call in sick when I was hungover. This was never my reason for calling in sick until after I moved out of my parents house.

I knew the morning of what should have been one of the happiest days of my life that I was about to make the biggest mistake I have ever made.

Everyone in their life feels lonely at least once. When you start getting this feeling called loneliness, then no matter how many people surround you, it is still felt. It seems like you have lost interest in life, and you are aimless. You feel like there is no reason for being alive and such things. So the important thing is to know the reasons why you are feeling lonely and how you can overcome it.

The message is a very simple one: don’t romanticise depression.

There are many things in this world whose presence causes possible threat for livelihood of many other people. Some of those things can be avoided whereas some can be discarded but there are some which can neither be avoided nor discarded rather these create obstacle in development of some persons. That thing is drug addiction i.e. controlling emotional suffering with some medications temporarily. There is no end to it because as long as people who are suffering emotionally like depression, frustration, failure etc. they resort to these sorts of things and these things will be recommended to other people also, to handle their emotional problems. Hence it will ultimately spread like wild fire. Luckily, there are various organizations that are coming forward to help and constrict the spread of drug addiction, especially among young generation. There are even various medications which are available in market which will control drug addiction but there is another thing which is even worse than drug addiction. Surprisingly, this problem can develop in any person without any drugs or medication and it has the ability to destroy many lives. That problem is known as obsession. Yes! Obsession is more dangerous than drug addiction. It may sound small and silly problem; many may ask that how can obsession be more dangerous than drug addiction. I agree that mild obsession can never hurt anyone but when it becomes severe then it becomes a possible threat to the one who is obsessed and also to his surroundings. It creates psychological disorder in the brain. So, what is obsession and why it is considered dangerous? Obsession is psychological thought process which occupies a person’s mind and drives that person to extreme conditions. It is considered dangerous because when it is not checked and improved at correct time then it may lead to Obsessive Compulsive Order famously known as OCD. Basically it is anxiety disorder which causes suffering and permanent impairment to brain. Initially it is difficult to detect OCD but the researchers have classified some possible symptoms of OCD into four types. These are Contamination and washing, Symmetry and arranging, Doubt and harm, Unacceptable or Taboo thoughts. When OCD becomes severe then it becomes OCPD i.e. Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder. In OCPD, the person undergoes personality disorder which is actually very dangerous because it will further result into split personality disorder. Hence everyone must take care their obsession doesn’t become inconvenience to others. Scientifically love and obsession are related because love is a healthy emotion which makes the heart feel light and happy. It spreads positivity whereas obsession can be said as excessive love which is an unhealthy emotion which makes the heart feel heavy and sad. When someone is obsessed, they forget the difference between correct and incorrect. The only thing they wish for is to complete the task to which they are obsessed. Is there is a way to recognize obsession and if there is then how to avoid it? Clinically symptoms have been stated above as four types of obsession. When a person is involved with excessive cleaning and fear of falling ill then it is first type of obsession i.e. contamination and washing. When a person starts worrying relentlessly about unorganized and unarranged things wherever they observe that and whatever work they do, they make sure that result is organized and symmetrical which is second type of obsession i.e. symmetry and arranging. The persons who have doubts about chances of accidental harm like checking locks of door, checking knob of cooking gas cylinders etc are symptoms of third type of obsession. The persons who shows the signs of irregular characteristics such violent and sexual nature thoughts towards young women and children, thinking bad about religious figures etc are symptoms of fourth type of obsession i.e. taboo thoughts. The fourth type of obsession is ‘purely obsessional’ in nature. Generally obsession takes place in successive steps inside someone’s mind, it may be due to abnormal childhood or due to abusive and violent guardians etc. which forces the victim to make artificial attachments to those for which they wish for. Eventually in time it becomes obsession. There is no particular cure or medicine for obsession but in Psychological science there are series of activities which will control obsession. These are: finding an alternative to the thing to which you are obsessed, gradually reducing the time spent with the thing you are obsessed with, setting up her goals and gradually prioritizing them day by day, occasionally try to distract yourself from obsession, developing new hobbies and skills, adopting and modifying new habits in your day to day life. These are some of common ways to overcome obsession. Hence we must take care of obsession which is why for me it more than dangerous than a drug addiction.

My anxiety started when I was young. I didn’t know there was an actual reason why I was anxious all the time. Growing up I would pick on my skin causing bruises and scars. I just thought I enjoyed the pain but later found out it was because I have anxiety and when I pick at my skin it became a regular habit.

On one the luckiest days of the year was March 17, 2020 as I was whisked away from my job. We were told to stay home until further notice. Of course I was happy because I didn’t have to get dressed and I felt it was similar to paid time off. Well all money isn’t good money.

Alice Bouffant stood in front of the Jungle Boat ride at Disneyland and tried to calm her nerves. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Her magic pill wasn’t working yet and she was starting to have a panic attack.

I believe that what we call our personality, this aggregation of subtle and predominant attitudes, philosophies, fears, tastes and impulses, this assembling of conflicting thoughts, ideas and other inner battles, is the result of all the experiences that we had to face during our respective lives. Thinking that it's a fixed attribute can't be further from the truth. It's evolving as we adapt to our reality. Of course genetics play a part ; there's things that we can't avoid nor choose, but, all things considered, I'll forever maintain that personality is more nurtural than natural.

Living Bipolar…

Finding the right words to say to somebody who's depressed can seem near impossible. Unfortunately, we're more likely to say the wrong thing when we're trying to help than we are to say something helpful.

All my life I've been different and I know how cliche that sounds because everyone is different but its the truth. I dressed different, talked different, looked at the world differently then everyone one around me. I remember being in 4th grade and one day I wore a dress to school and all the girls were shocked like it was the first time anyone has ever worn a dress in history, they told me that I finally looked like a ten instead of a four and I never wore a dress again.

“Papa!”, “Malish?”. I miss his voice, I miss him. I missed my chance to get the answers, even though there were times I had asked for them. I had questions about things that had happened, that he said I was too young to know the answers too. He would tell me one day as papas do. That day would never come. But I realize the answers I am looking for live within me, and I can still discover them if I try to piece together the puzzle between body and mind. This is a hope for healing, and for the acknowledgment of truth.

SEBRING FLORIDA 2011

I've had depression since I was 16.

This is a true story about me. First, I want to say that I wish I could go back and change a lot of my life choices but I obviously can't. Suicide and suicide attempts are terrible things to even consider. I hope my story helps someone else seek help instead of making the same poor choice that I did by staying silent. I should mention that I am still silent on this matter to those who think to know me. I deal with heart palpitations constantly now, when I had never had them before. If my story speaks to you, please leave a tip. I have no insurance and can't afford a doctor's visit.

Where to start for me is actually a difficult Qustion to answer?

People who suffer with mental health “disorders” have been misunderstood and even feared by members of the public for far too long. I hope to be a spoke in the revolutionary wheel of change. As the quote in the picture says "Those who don’t understand your silence will never understand your words". Maybe if I try and explain my silence, my words will be easier to understand. This is my story and these are my experiences.

“Bulimics- weak. Over-exercisers- very weak. Diet pill takers- the weakest. None of them have shit on us. We’re the ones with discipline. We’re the ones with strength. Why? Because we combine all three of them and then add another, stronger component to it. We starve. We are the ones who stare into the refrigerator with sunken eyes and a weak heartbeat, longing to put one morsel into our mouths, even the healthiest of foods, and cannot bring ourselves to consume anything. It’s at that point we punish ourselves for even walking into the kitchen. “Ok, you, stupid weakling,” we say to ourselves. “It’s time to repent.” That means we’ll go even longer without a single bite, take twice the number of pills, and do twice the exercise we normally do, just because we walked into the kitchen and even contemplated eating. Hell, at least the bulimics vomit the food up. The other two actually consume it completely and let it nourish their bodies, even if it’s only temporary. Us, we don’t even swallow, which, to be brutally honest, doesn’t come in handy at some point in life when you’re staring up at the face of a guy eagerly awaiting you to consume him while your knees ache from the pressure of the floor beneath them. But that’s another story altogether; I simply say it to further explain how our road is more difficult, but, oh, the triumph is greater, the results more permanent. Yes, we anorexics have a hard line to tow, but when you can walk into the children’s section of a clothing store and buy a smaller size than a child years younger than you, it’s all worth it.

This is never an easy topic to discuss. The word anorexia might sound harmless to some but it is in fact a mental illness. As someone that has suffered from anorexia, I can tell you that it has a large part to do with the mindset of that individual.

I.We all eat too much too often. Sometimes when we visit a relative's house, when we find our favorite food on the table, sometimes when we come to a reception with delicious food, we sometimes eat too much when we feel hungry. Food is an important part of our lives and good food makes us happy. So it is only natural that we sometimes eat too much. But some people have an uncontrollable rhythm of eating too much regularly.

The pain was like nothing I had ever experienced before. I was doubled over in my bed, on top of the blanket, with my knees tucked in close to my chest and my arms wrapped around them. My knuckles were white from gripping so tightly. Seconds later, I released my legs and laid flat on my back, staring longingly at the ceiling through the blurry window of my tears. I rolled onto my left side, again tucking my knees into my chest, and for a moment, I gave into the pain, letting my head lull on the pillow, feeling the tightness in my chest increasing. It was three in the morning and I knew I had to get up early for work, but nothing would make the pain stop, or even ease. I had experienced this same pain on two other occasions in the last 6 years, and I think it could be likened to heartburn, but I imagine much, much worse. It felt like there was something trapped inside of my rib cage, right at the bottom, where the left side meets the right. This ‘something’ seemingly wasn’t sure whether it wanted to be in or out, because it would tighten one minute, and then the next minute it felt like it was pushing against my rib cage, almost to breaking point. The scariest part is that it was so painful to inhale, and every breath seemed to become shorter and more strained. I had tried heartburn relief when I experienced this pain before, with no luck. During this specific episode, I was blinded by pain and must have dosed myself with a questionable number of ibuprofen tablets, but nothing helped. It was mid March in England, absolutely freezing, and yet I had droplets of sweat pouring out of my skin at an alarming rate. The last time I experienced this same pain, I was with my ex-boyfriend, who was aware of what I was going through, and so I felt safe knowing that if I needed to go to the hospital, he was there to take me. This time, I was alone. I had moved to the UK late December in a ‘quarter-life-crisis’ fashion, hoping to see some of the world while gaining some career experience. I guess I was technically not alone, as I lived in a dark and dingy share house with 6 other people who I barely knew (constantly closed bedroom doors never did lead to building those ‘lifelong friendships’ that people always rave about after going traveling). Regardless of the other inhabitants residing in the High Wycombe icebox we called ‘home’, I had never felt more alone and terrified. I was conflicted; the rational part of me knew that the pain would eventually subside, as it had done in the past, and that I had to ‘stop chucking a wobbly’ (classic dad term for throwing a tantrum) and get on with it; the two other sides of me were arguing back and forth between calling out for help from one of the sleeping strangers in the house, and just accepting that I was going to die. None of my thoughts won that battle. I am not entirely sure how I got to sleep, whether the ibuprofen eventually did its job or I passed out from the pain, but either way I have a vivid memory of seeing the numbers 5:49 light up as I tapped my phone before drifting off and thinking...fuck.

For those of you who may know me, you know my story. For those of you who don’t, my names Tracy and I am sick. I have two mental illnesses. One that I was born with, Bipolar Disorder. The other is BPD, Border Line Personality Disorder. Mental health professionals have been saying for years they want to change the name of the disorder. Because BPD is not in fact a change in personalities. It’s a disorder of emotions. I feel each and every emotion to an amplified extent. How they say there’s no gray area, it’s all just black and white for us border liners. When we are happy we feel like we are being shot across the sun flying into a parade of fireworks, drifting off into the Red Sea in the Mediterranean. When we are depressed our chest feels hollows, the emptiness physically hurts us (we can feel the pain in our chest) we feel intense suicidal ideation and believe we are a burden to our loved ones and they’d be better off without us. BPD is a back and forth of depressive, angry/irritable and happiness/feelings of euphoria episodes. Its getting stuck in the episodes and knowing you are stuck. Being intelligent but knowing your mind can’t think rationally until the episode ends. It’s mood dysregulation and snapping on the people around you just from the slightest trigger. It’s having a hard time with interpersonal relationships. It’s having a sex addiction, alcohol addiction, suffering from other mental illnesses as well, having symptoms of every mental illness put into one disorder And having eating disorders. It’s having erratic behavior. And unintentionally pushing people away by overreacting. The worst part for me is my fear of abandonment. I’m scared all the people that love me will one day leave me. Incase you were wondering I was not born with BPD. I had the genetic inclination to develop a personality disorder. But my environmental factors brought it out. It’s a learned behavior. It’s a coping mechanism I learned from my trauma. Here’s how my parents gave me BPD.

Alrighty. Where to start? I love writing. Now, I may not be the very best at it, but its still something I love doing. So when I came across vocal and found out I could build myself a place on this platform for my writing I got very excited. Now I have writers block for fiction and I'm honestly a little nervous at the idea of putting my real life stories out there. I've never been that hesitant to share my stories with people, I want to help people get through their own stories by sharing my experiences, but something about being judged by the entire internet, rather than just a few people, is terrifying. In this day and age of the internet one wrong word online can ruin your entire life. It can keep you from attaining your dream career or get you fired from the job you have. To be fair my dream career involves me being in the public eye anyways so I guess I have to put myself out there eventually regardless. I may as well start now.

In this part of the series on the topic of narcissism I want to talk a little or well a lot on what some of the signs are that you are in fact dealing with someone who I believe has lost their way and their soul is without depth.

I’m angry. I feel deserted by society, and I’m angry. People keep claiming they don’t understand mental illness until a designated day of the year, or until some pretty celebrity writes something on Instagram. So here, I plan to make you understand it, once and for all:

This message is for you Mr. J****

The other day, I found myself discussing with a friend a Bollywood actor's suicide, which was allegedly triggered by his long term depression. She was heartbroken, as was I. Sushant Singh Rajput was a beloved inspiration to the masses and his death caused a huge mental health de-stigmatization movement which had everybody 'pretending' to be comfortable with mental ill-health and conversations revolving around the same.

If you’ve been in a relationship with a person who suffers from narcissist personality disorder then more likely than not you’ve experienced the discard stage of the relationship. If you’ve not quite hit that point, please know that this is part of the disorder. They discard because their mentality is always that the grass is always greener on the other side.

I grew up poor, with no idea about mental illness,what being gay was about and was always the fat girl. My story starts with the only thing I know to start it with. I wish I didn't have to start here, everything inside of me doesn't want to have to write this. The scapegoat in my family, while maybe not on purpose but it still happened. I was born to my mother when she was 15 years old. And we went through hell and back those first few years. She found my father when I was three, but we were always poor and things got worse when my sisters were born when I was nine and ten years old. By the time I was 12 I had a baby brother and both parents worked and I was the caregiver between shifts. All this time I had hidden secrets in my brain. Secrets I shoved full of food, and no one noticed the extreme pain I was in…

Domestic violence is an ongoing issue in the United States today. Violence with an intimate partner can occur in many forms. These include financial, physical, and emotional abuse. Any form of abuse can have a negative impact on victims and witnesses. Physical abuse can end in the loss of life, whether it is the victim’s life or the abuser's life. There are 1,200 individuals per hour that experience some form of abuse. Parsons (2014) explains that 40% of all homicides of women in each state involved intimate partner violence.

On June 20th (or was it the 19th?), I was released from the mental hospital early because I signed my 72 hours, and I guess I was so annoying they didn't even want to keep me that long.

One in Five Canadians will experience a mental health issue at some point in their lifetime, so why is it that average “wait times for outpatient services are six to nine months”?(CBC News, 2015). Mental Illness is a common, yet often unacknowledged reality for many individuals; it’s imperative that medical concerns are treated quickly and efficiently no matter what the concern is. However most Canadians struggling with mental health issues, do not have that quick and efficient treatment for something that could potentially be unnoticeably life threatening. Despite there having been “a 30-per-cent jump from the same month the previous year.” (CBC News, 2011) in ER visits at one hospital alone.

Some people claim that vitamins and minerals can cure serious mental illness. That's not what I'm talking about here. While in general, there's not a ton of research funding for supplements and herbal products, there are a number of supplements that do have some research evidence to support their effectiveness in depression.