coping
Life presents variables; learning how to cope in order to master, minimize, or tolerate what has come to pass.
Hyperfixation: My Story
Hyperfixation, commonly associated with ADHD – Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder – and autism, is an occurrence when an individual becomes fully engrossed with something, may it be a hobby, movie, book, person, etc. Often, this hyperfixation affects the rest of the person’s life as they have a challenging time focusing on anything other than their fixation, including work, school, self-care, and relationships. While hyperfixation is associated with ADHD and autism, it is also present in various mental illnesses, and as someone with mental illness, I often experience hyperfixation and would like to share my story with you.
By Ashley Nestler, MSW5 years ago in Psyche
Crossroads of Depression
Like many people in this world, I suffer from periodic episodes of depression. Unlike many, my bouts with it haven't needed to be managed with medication; I have generally been able to talk myself out of it. But I can see how those who do need more help with management might read the following pep-talk and think, "Yeah, right; easy for you to say."
By Paula Shablo5 years ago in Psyche
Lights in The Darkness
Lights in The Darkness “I put the last box on the truck dad!” Its summer 2015. We were all exhilarated about “The Big Move. You see, my dad had finally gotten the promotion of his dreams. He was promoted president over a major scientific research firm. With this big promotion, came big changes for my family. My father, mother, brother Max and I; We’re all packed up leaving our family home in Rochester New York, moving to a new home in sunny Southern California. Only minutes away from the beach; Hollywood lights, movie stars, and great weather enthralling for a 15-year-old boy such as myself. We slowly settled in our new home.
By DeSha Jackson5 years ago in Psyche
Dying to be Heard
I am tired. So very, very tired. Tired of the sameness of my days and nights. Tired of nothing going my way. Ever. Tired of never being touched, or heard, or really seen. Tired of dreaming of the impossible. Tired of the dreary monotony that is my life. Most of all, I’m tired of the pain. So why should I get up today? Or, ever?
By Sherry McGuinn5 years ago in Psyche
Dysmorphia
I used to love science fiction until I realized I was living in a reality stranger than fiction. It was on a mediocre Wednesday morning that my world was turned upside down and sideways - literally. On a typical foggy autumn morning in San Francisco, I took the ill fated decision to get a start on my 10,000 steps that day and walk the 7 blocks to work from BART. I heard the nagging words of my Nana commenting on the freshman 15 I never lost after quitting college 2 years ago. She never let it go that my grandpa lent me 20k for my education after he died just to let myself go. I lived in a tiny studio apartment above a coffee shop off of Shattuck in Berkeley. It was always smelling of burnt coffee grounds and stale scones that regularly churned my stomach to the point of never wanting breakfast nonetheless coffee or tea. Less calories in my life anyway. So when I was on my walk, it was odd that a café would entice me enough to distract me from my route to work. The smell was-forgive me for being punny-otherworldly. Transcendent if a smell ever was. I walked into the café, bewildered with a sudden hunger. I found myself pulled to a small table next to an even smaller shelf of books. A shapely young woman sauntered over to me, eyes locked with a certain intensity that made me blush. She had what seemed to be a blue hue to her skin. Translucent almost. Intoxicating definitely.
By Lindsay Lutomski5 years ago in Psyche
Le Attaché
It’s 6am at a poignant little coffee shop that makes legit coffee shipped from Ethiopia. The clanking and the steam from the fancy vintage La Marzocco espresso machine conceals details of small talks and chatters. The room filled with masked people walking in and out picking up their orders. I know I’m practically invisible, grazing my peek and taking small sips of my cappuccino, while the person sits down one table from me. My eyes were locked on the right hand that grips tightly around the bindings of a classic black notebook, about 5x8inches, fixating on the thumb that circles back and forth anxiously and flipping the corner of the notebook like a deck of cards. Pausing and jotting something feverishly, then shutting the notebook again. Is it important information written in those pages, thoughts, words, or chain of events that could never be said aloud? My eyes darted trying not to get caught staring. It would be rude.
By Vinnie Quan5 years ago in Psyche
The Quantum Hour
“You got a cig, bro?” Bill asks walking by with his crew. “Nah, man,” I reply, both of us aware of the lie and that he’d reached full-tilt. Starring at me blankly - he does this frequently and I never know what he’s thinking or seeing - he mutters something to his posse and bounces.
By Sam Tahmassebi5 years ago in Psyche
Slowing Down the Shame-Nami
Have you had this dream? A fun day at the beach, sun on your shoulders, sand between your toes. You're loading up on sunscreen, when suddenly, a rumble. A collective inhale sweeps across the beach as, quicker than realistically possible, you look up to see a tsunami almost upon you. You run, ankles bending this way and that. Sometimes you make it, sometimes you don't.
By Chelsea Delaney5 years ago in Psyche
In Case of Loss
I was dark when I walked home that night. The clouds had eclipsed the moon and the streetlights were dimmed by overgrowth. The narrow road wound atop of the gorge and was lined simply by an old stone wall. I stopped on the bridge and watched the raindrops soldier solemnly into the stationary water below. It was soberly peaceful. I felt blissfully alone.
By Naomi Giesbrecht5 years ago in Psyche
