family
Family can be our support system. Or they can be part of the problem. All about the complicated, loving, and difficult relationship with us and the ones who love us.
Sixteen
Just the sight of him that day gave me a feeling, and I knew. I was getting off the school bus when I noticed him a few feet up the road. My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach and a cloud swooped over my head. I didn't call out to him, or chase after him. I just walked. Frankly because I wasn't even certain if that was him on his way home that early in the day when he should have been at work, but also because if that was him I knew something was wrong, or something will be.
Diana De La CruzPublished 6 years ago in PsychePromise You’ll Be There Fighting the Addiction With Them
I’m guessing, since I’ve had a couple decades of life on this planet, it doesn’t come easy. We’re built to withstand those pernicious things that may come into our lives — things like trauma, depression, even pain can be detrimental to our overall health. But what about a family member?
Ricksen's––A––"Neo-Manteau"Published 6 years ago in PsycheWhy Being in a Relationship Doesn’t Make All the Bad Stuff Go Away
"It’s okay for you because you’re in a relationship,” a friend said to me once. “Surely things don’t get you down so much because you’ve got a partner,” a colleague told me. “It can’t be that bad when there’s two of you,” a family member offered.
Obesity + Depression
Outside of my depressive episodes, the only time I am self-conscious is when I’m with my family. Its hard enough feeling worthless when the actions of people you love seem to validate those feelings. I’ve gone back and forth for years caring and not caring about what my family feels about me but being home for the summer has seemed to both heal old wounds and open new ones. The latest obsession my family has with me is my weight. Now, I’ve always been big. I was always a fat kid and for awhile, I was the “oh, I just want to eat his cheeks” fat. Then I was the “damn, what are you feeding this kid, he’s gonna make a great linebacker” fat. By the end of middle school I was “kids make fun of him because of his size” fat.
Devon RooksPublished 6 years ago in PsycheVinnie's Story
It's been four years to the day since my brother took his own life. My brother, Vinnie would be twenty-one now, probably living in the countryside, all cooped up in front of the fire with a book in his hand. But no. He's gone.
Bella HigginsPublished 6 years ago in PsycheThe Garden
It’s been years since I've seen you. And even though I am getting by in these solitary years since you left, there is not a single day that I don’t think of you. Not a single day that I can forget. Your words and actions drift endlessly from hundred miles away, constantly plaguing everyday thoughts. You taint every single memory I have of my childhood, every single memory I have of myself. From the monster I am a part of, you still truly define me. You are the embodiment of everything I am petrified to be. Everything I don’t want to finalize myself into is this very monster I've grown to known, the final form of my beautiful insanity. I can’t say I never sat here wishing for your demise. To a time before all this happened and I was pure. To save every countless individual you corrupted by your touch. Your actions and your very being trickled down into every surface of my skull, every surface of anyone who was remotely close to you.
rot flowerPublished 6 years ago in PsycheWhen Your Muslim Parents Don't Understand Mental Health
I grew up with traditional Pakistani parents, arranged marriage and all from the hearts of Karachi. From a young age, I had already known what I can and cannot do around them. I can talk to them about grades and food and friends, just not about boys and feelings and sex. I can watch cartoons and Disney shows but nothing that has kissing and relationships and girls showing a lot of skin. Even important topics such as periods were avoided. To this day, my mother still has not properly told me what a period is and when I got it, all she did was show me how to wash my underwear so we don't buy new ones and how to put on a pad. Growing up, these were just taboo topics that as a Muslim child were instilled in you not to talk about.
Becoming My Mother
Most women say if they become even half of the woman their mother was, they'd be happy; knowing their mother was a wonderful, compassionate woman. Someone who would kiss their "boo boos," a best friend, a confidante...Well, in my case, being half of my mother terrifies the daylights out of me. I'm sure she had some good in her, but I was hardly a witness to those parts of her. Finding good memories are few and far between. She wasn't an alcoholic or drug addict. At my young age it just seemed like I was her problem. I was the reason she was upset all the time. I was sure that I deserved all of her "discipline." Waking up as a six-year-old and asking her if I could have a bowl of cereal, I was positive it was totally disrespectful to wake her up and ask. I was sure I deserved being called “stupid little b****" after being yelled at and the bowl of cereal was practically thrown at me on the table. I was sure I did something wrong. There were times where she was happy to help me with my homework and after a few minutes of frustrating her, I felt the sharpened end of a pencil into my scalp. She would often use many devices or any to display her frustration with me. We lived in a one bedroom house and we slept in the same bed until I was 11. To me, it was a dungeon and I hated it. She finally died when I was 13, and it didn't bother me one bit. I never cried once.
Melissa WeaklyPublished 6 years ago in PsycheFolie à Deux
Rebecca pulled up to the house and saw her mother’s car parked in the driveway. She hoped today was a better day for her mother. She parked her car and drew in a deep breath before releasing a heavy sigh and making her way towards the front door. As she reached to unlock the door, she felt a tightening in her thigh, and she could not figure out if it was because she was anxious or itchy.
Deneane Delaney BrooksPublished 6 years ago in PsycheUnderstanding
I’ve had to be an “adult” since I was 7. I’ve had to put on my big girl pants and put on a brave face since my parents split up when I was three. Not to be dramatic or anything but it sort of ruined my childhood. I was stuck between two people who seemed like they just hated each other, or maybe didn’t understand each other. I had to pick sides and listen to each one bad mouth the other, and a part of me always understood. At first I thought love was forever, and then I saw it disappear within my parents first few years here. It sucked.
Tamara NicotraPublished 6 years ago in PsycheTrying to Escape My Internal Prison
I wish that I was able to tell everyone that I am perfectly fine and I'm living a completely worry-free life. Sadly to say, that is not the case. I am one of those few unlucky people who suffer from a plethora of mental instabilities. On top of that, I am also a mother. My day to day life of even completing simple tasks can sometimes seem like an impossible feat. I suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (P.T.S.D.) and also I suffer from anxiety and paranoia.
Alycia dasilvaPublished 6 years ago in PsycheParenting and Depression
I've had anxiety and depression since I was 11-years-old. I grew up seeing therapist after therapist, and tried many different medications to help, "make me feel better." When I became an adult, I decided that I really wanted to try and get better. I continued therapy, medications, surrounded myself with loved ones, and tried my best everyday to get up and be positive. Then, I found out I was pregnant. I was in a brand new relationship, I had just started feeling better, and now I had to worry about how I was going to be a parent. When I went to my first ultrasound appointment, they informed me that the medications I was taking for my depression and anxiety, were not suitable for pregnancy. I was told that I needed to stop taking it, and I needed to find something else to take that was safer. Come to find out, all the "safe" medications I had already tried without success. So there I was, pregnant, confused, and without medication. I continued therapy and did my absolute best to make sure that I prepared myself, the best that I could have, to be a parent. My pregnancy seemed to fly by, surprisingly. Before I knew it, I had my baby boy in my arms, and he was perfect. I was so happy!! But soon after, that happiness became stress, sadness, and worry. I was slipping back into my depression, and being sleep deprived did not help with that. I felt like my world was crashing down, and although I was happy my baby was healthy and thriving, I felt like I wasn't good enough. After a while, my therapist and doctor thought I could have Post Partum Depression. This is a type of depression that woman can get after pregnancy, whether you had depression prior to pregnancy or not. I went through therapy, started medications again, and I started to feel better. Now, my son is 4-years-old. He's incredibly smart, funny, and a good kid. I am a lot better now, but I still struggle. Some days are better than others, and sometimes I just really want to sleep all day and do nothing. But I remind myself that I am stronger than I think. I look at my son's pictures, his artwork hung on the wall, and think about his little laugh. Being a parent isn't easy, but being a parent with depression makes it a lot harder. You have to remind yourself on a daily basis that your child needs you. Knowing that means you also need to take very good care of YOU. You are a mom, you are your child's Superwoman, and they look up to you. If you feel you are depressed, think of the reasons that make you want to get up in the morning, to have fun with your child. I found many things that help me with my depression, and so now, I am going to share those things with you.
Virginia ShefcykPublished 6 years ago in Psyche