depression
It is not just a matter of feeling sad; discover an honest view of the mental, emotional and physical toll of clinical depression.
Her Name
There was only one way to keep her quiet. She needed to think it was her idea. She wasn’t like most twelve-year-old girls. She was dark, cynical to the point of self-destruction. Her outlandish sense of humor made it impossible for her to connect with anyone. This being what it was, she never viewed it as much of a problem. She was rather small for her age, the runt of the litter — a description that rang true on more levels than one. In fact, she always felt like an outcast in a society she never had a desire to be a part of to begin with. Her jet-black hair, the coffee-colored irises of her eyes, her swarthy complexion, and her overall disheveled appearance were all very true reflections of shadows lurking beneath the fleshly level — the secret looming, longing to be discovered, revealed. Her name was Simone Coletun and there was one way to keep her quiet; it was simply this: ask her to talk.
Final ThoughtsPublished 7 years ago in PsycheTime for a New Priority
Yes, yes— I know. I don't have time to brush my hair though. I don't have time to take care of myself. I'm too busy taking care of everyone else— even though no one asked me to. I know it's needed, I can see it, I can feel it. It's a fear that's so deeply seated: the fear that I'm going to be left all alone, so I might as well take care of the people I love, while they still pick up the phone. When they see my number on the screen, do they see the pain? Do they see the lies I tell when I say, "I'm okay?" Can they see through the bullshit? Can they tell I'm breaking down? I guess not, because no one is around. No one is asking, no one is helping, no one can see that I'm being slain my own thoughts; no one is interested in my pain. Or maybe they are. Maybe it's because I hide myself away. I just don't know, my head is my enemy, I don't know what to think because my brain keeps betraying me. It's telling me the end is near, that I should lay down and give up, but my heart is still fighting. But for what, FOR WHAT? For the father who disappeared? For everything that I lost? For the anxiety, the anger, the apathy, the grief? The grief that I felt when my best friend left me. The grief I felt as I lifted his lifeless body from the rope and released him from the grip of the tree? Everyone knows, they all heard the story. Everyone can see the discomfort dripping off of my being; everyone is studying me like I'm in a laboratory. But no one, not one person, can see the guilt. No one knows that the only one I blame is me. No one knows that he was the only one who stopped me from demolishing my own body, the only reason I had a fight left in me. All the while I never saw the agony festering inside his own walking corpse. How could I be so dense? How did I not recognize the same suffering, which was inside of me? Well now it's too late; there's no point in trying. It's too late to wonder what I could have done, said or offered. It's too late for regrets, because he's already gone. So now here I am, taking care of everyone else while I still can. Because maybe that will make up for all the times he cried and I told him someone else's problems were worse. Maybe it will make up for that time when he called, but I ignored the ringtone because I was bitter: bitter he didn't have the time to listen to me, bitter he didn't come to my rescue when I was at the end of me. All the while, he was sitting on his bathroom floor, trying to figure out what he had to live for anymore, when all he had left was me. Coincidentally "me" was the only one I had time for. So maybe if I put others on the top-shelf, maybe if I deny the care of myself, maybe if I spend every waking moment trying to live for everyone else, then just maybe, he'll forgive me. Maybe he'll see. Maybe he'll be watching. Maybe he'll reach out to me, though he has no body. Maybe I'll finally be at peace. Maybe I'll be able to forgive myself, and maybe I'll stop wishing that the corpse in the tree was someone else. Maybe I'll stop wishing that it was me.
Final ThoughtsPublished 7 years ago in PsycheDepression
Surgery can be traumatic for anyone and at 20 years of age having reconstructive knee surgery and a total knee replacement isn't exactly what I had in mind. It has been, to date, by far the most traumatic experience of my life. At the age of 20 I went from being an active gym head to loosing complete use of my right leg. I spent two and a half months completely bed bound. I could not walk, stand or even go to the toilet on my own without the assistance of someone else. Yes, they had to be right beside me. I couldn't sit on the toilet nor could I get off the toilet without help from someone. Someone had to be beside me at all times because I was a code red fall hazard. I couldn't sleep on my side because I didn't have the strength to turn or roll myself over. I had to permanently sleep on my back. I couldn't sleep alone incase I needed to go to the toilet during the night or I needed help with something else. I couldn't dress or wash myself. I became helpless. I also became very lonely. I couldn't leave my bed. The furthest I traveled each day would be to the bathroom.
The Glass ChildPublished 7 years ago in PsycheSigns of Depression in Men
It may surprise you to learn that the leading cause of ill health and disability worldwide is depression. According to the World Health Organization, a staggering 300 million people suffer from depression. And that’s just diagnosed depression. Even more so for men than women, depression is deeply misunderstood and still widely prevalent. Although many indicators of depression in men and women may be similar, the disease will always manifest itself in different ways in different people. In a stigma-filled society, men can be especially vulnerable because like many of us, they may be resistant to observing and acknowledging the signs of depression and then seeking help. Depression is treatable, and it can be overcome. These key signs of depression in men are critical to recognize; it may just change your life.
Sophie HellerPublished 7 years ago in PsycheThe Longest Battle
She sighed, her heels clicking along the dark, marbled tile, her thoughts hazy. The only thought that seemed to echo the loudest was "Why am I not happy?" Her fake smiles were proof of the actress she could be, fooling anyone who passed her by. Maybe her acting was too good. She wanted to cry for help, but a part of her was afraid to, so her sliced wrists stayed hidden underneath long sweater sleeves, much like the long, mocha turtleneck she wore. More scars were covered by her black pencil skirt and thick tights. Her husband had been horrified by how many stripes appeared on her body, until he couldn't handle her depression anymore. Rather than help, he left. He asked for no answer as to why she kissed the razor blades against her dark skin, but only picked up the children and left her alone. She was alone with her demons again.
Samantha WrightPublished 7 years ago in PsycheI'm Depressed Again...
I made a mistake: I told you I had my depression under control. Remember? I said that I control it‚it doesn't control me.
Abigail KinleePublished 7 years ago in PsycheDepression
What is depression? Is it having sadness that consumes you everyday? Is it thinking you aren't good enough for anyone in your life? Maybe it's feeling so alone and misunderstood that you feel as though you're slowly drowning in the middle of an ocean with no one for miles to hear your cries for help.
Rachael WilsonPublished 7 years ago in PsycheFinding Strength
I plan to use this blog as sort of a way to channel some of my thoughts and experiences, in the hopes of connecting with others who feel and experience the same things that I have and still do.
Mercedes HamiltonPublished 7 years ago in PsycheAlone
I woke up, staring into the eyes of my fear. I feared one day I'd be alone, by myself with no one to hold at night when the earth is in its darkest moments. I hated waking up to reality. It failed me every time, I mean it's not like reality ever pulled through. I never felt so empty inside, even when I would walk the streets of Manhattan, I still had the people of New York to keep me company. Well less company more surrounded with people that cared less about my well being. It was better than having no one around. Not even a pet, or a child to call my own. I was alone, and I would stay alone until my death bed. For this I believed, no matter what happened or who came into my life.
Macaila BlalockPublished 7 years ago in PsycheSigns of Depression in Young Women
Most of us know how common depression is. People ranging from all ages can suffer with the mental disease — whether you're a 70-year-old women or a 22-year-old man. It doesn't matter what age you are, depression can randomly appear out of the blue, or a traumatic incident can cause its appearance. And depression is a real life ruiner — it's something that should be dealt with through mediation and talking with loved ones about.
C.C. CurtisPublished 7 years ago in PsycheDrowning
A sailor set out one dark night to journey across the ocean. She didn’t know a single thing about sailing, on what lay ahead, but that was the exciting part, the journey, the unknown, and the purpose. She felt determined find more of herself, and as she looked beyond, she took one deep breath, pushed her foot off the sand; her last touch of solid ground for a while. There was no way for her to know what lay ahead, but she felt ready. The ocean offered more than she was ready for, the waves tossed, the stars moved, navigating became tricky. She came across islands, and different people, in whom she learned many lessons. She felt full of hope when leaving each island, but soon found despair with weeks and weeks on the ocean alone. The winds blew when she needed it calm, and it was calm when she needed the wind. The ocean roared when she needed peace, and there were no one around when she felt alone, but she journeyed on. She had a purpose; she was on a search for herself; she wanted to become more than she was. Her purpose pushed her on, and the ocean pushed her back.
Emily GreenPublished 7 years ago in PsycheSurprising Symptoms of Manic Depression
Bipolar Disorder, or manic depression as it's more commonly referred to, is a mood disorder that causes extreme highs and lows. Usually, there is no in between — they are ecstatic and jacked up on life, or they are severely bummed out and find it difficult to get out of bed and complete the simplest of tasks — manifestation of bipolar depression can come in many ways.
Joseph FarleyPublished 7 years ago in Psyche