Beyond the Blues
Understanding depression is difficult; hear from Psyche's community of peers on their experiences with this mood disorder.
Living...With Mental Illness
Where do I start when it comes to talking about living with mental health? It’s a question I often ask myself. Should I be honest? Lay all my cards on the table? Do my closest friends and family need to know every little detail about my struggle? And if I did tell them, would they even care? Or would they just give me the generic responses I’d heard my whole life? “Everyone feels like that” “No one likes work, you just do it” and the ever-popular “Man up!” After all, they probably have their own issues to deal with, right?
By Zach Rodgers8 years ago in Psyche
I Am Depressed, Please Stop Telling Me to 'Cheer Up'
I am depressed. Please stop telling me to "cheer up." I remember the first time I heard the word "depression." I was 11 and in my first year at secondary school. My best friend at the time had obviously just learnt that this word meant "upset" or "sad" or any adjective that similarly describes a slightly disappointed or uneasy emotion or feeling. She used it to describe anything from there not being the dessert she liked in the lunch hall to having to do P.E. class (to be fair, a pretty depressing experience). I didn’t realise how serious it was to claim you were "depressed." At that age it’s very easy to throw around words without knowing the meaning. Unfortunately, we seem to continue to do so as adults. I actually just did, by claiming that P/E claim was depressing.
By Samantha Bentley8 years ago in Psyche
No, Karen, I Am Not Lazy. I Am Depressed
Let me start off by telling you a little bit of my struggle with mental illness. It started when I was about 12 years old. I was in middle school. I didn't know much of anything about mental illness. All I knew was that I was sad a lot. I felt out of place constantly and I thought about wanting to die a lot. I thought it was normal, because hormonal preteen... These feelings continued throughout high school, and even got worse after the death of my father. I tried my hardest to hide it from everyone. I started self-harming. Then my senior year I swallowed my medicine cabinet. Didn't do anything other than make me sick. However, I did follow puking with mentioning what I did to my cousin on the old Myspace. She called my sister who called my mom. It got worse. Now, not only was I un-diagnosed depressed, and having panic attacks when I didn't even know what panic attacks were, I was also being told how selfish and disappointing I was by every member of my family. Nobody offered real help, just criticism. Fast forward to close to 10 years later, still suffering, still suicidal, still panicking, yet I had a boyfriend who knew more about mental health than me, and tried to help. Even to the point it was hurting his own mental health... He convinced me to get help when it got to the point he didn't want me cooking dinner when he wasn't home, because he didn't trust me with the knives and was scared he'd come home from work to find me with my wrists cut. So I saw a therapist, then a psychiatrist who diagnosed me with Sever Major Depressive Disorder and General Anxiety. I was put on medication and life got a bit more manageable. For once, I felt a little bit more normal; I still had my lows, but fuck if life wasn't better.
By Kei Voorhees8 years ago in Psyche
The Darkness
Today I seriously thought about killing you. I contemplated. Premeditated murder. I can recall exactly how I felt, sitting in the car en route to Lawrence Memorial Hospital. It was roughly four in the morning; the quiet college town I call home still peacefully asleep and unaware of the turmoil I had been trying to pull myself out of for so long. This would be the second time I tried to take my own life.
By Ana Krasuski8 years ago in Psyche
Joy? Is That You?
Everyone used to tell me that I could be happy again. It felt like they could never understand what I was going through so wouldn’t really know. It felt like they were too delusional and if they felt even a minute level of what I did each day, they wouldn’t say so. The counselor, the psychiatrist, the doctors, friends, and family would all say the same thing. Me, I kept denying them over and over again. Yet, it creeped up on me and took me by surprise. Like a roaring wind that grows slowly, and then maddeningly. I felt it in my chest and it was a stranger to me. “What is this feeling?” startled, I asked myself. It took me a while to realize that I was happy. “Happiness! Could it be?” In that moment, I could breathe so effortlessly I wondered how. The weight that was so familiar to my shoulders seemed to have not been there. I felt almost light, like one does when you step into a pool and all of a sudden you’re lightweight. My second thought was that I never wanted this moment to pass. “This too shall pass.” “This too shall pass.” “This too shall pass.” So many times I’d heard myself repeat that back to myself in desperate attempts to muster strength; through the panic attacks, the deep depression, the hopelessness. I never believed those words but I thought it best to lie to myself in the moment. Now though, I hoped with all my existence that it didn’t. Like a lover embraces his beloved after a long separation, I held onto the feeling with the strength of my mind.
By Ayesha Javed8 years ago in Psyche
Perspective: A Teen’s Struggle with Weight Loss and Depression
I was only 13 when I started to worry about my weight. My diet was horrible, I exercised maybe once a week — and yet everyone said it was stupid to be worried because I was, “skinny.” In my mind, this could not have been further from the truth. To me, skinny was a word of the past. All I could focus on were the stretch marks on my thighs and stomach. My parents said that I was “just filling out” and that I was “beautiful no matter what”, but they had to say that; they’re my parents.
By Madeleine Ramon8 years ago in Psyche
The Phoenix - The Truth About Depression
That's always been a huge trigger of mine—I'm depressed. I don't know why. If I knew why I was depressed or if there was a way of fixing it, don't you think that I would have gone about and done whatever it was to fix it? Don't tell me that I don't seem depressed just because at that moment I'm not breaking down in tears—actually, the tears are more related to my anxiety than to my depression.
By Kayleigh Lynne8 years ago in Psyche
There's a Mark on the Kitchen Cupboard
There's a mark on the kitchen cupboard. It's small and brown and probably could be scrubbed off or painted over, but no one has gotten round to it yet. It's not the first thing that people notice when they come to the house– in fact, most people never notice it at all. They're more likely to notice the amount of empty wine bottles and pizza boxes, or the fact we really need to give the place a Hoover once in a while.
By Lauren Stones8 years ago in Psyche
