depression
It is not just a matter of feeling sad; discover an honest view of the mental, emotional and physical toll of clinical depression.
Struggles People with Depression Know Too Well
Depression is a very difficult disorder to understand. However, there are 350 million people who suffer from depression, and they share similar struggles, though it's a different process for everyone. These are 10 different struggles people with depression know all too well.
By Kelsey Lange8 years ago in Psyche
Finding a Family
I look around the room. Everyone is laughing, having a good time. I stand there, surrounded, yet feeling so alone. Does anyone want me there? Nobody notices the way I dig my nails into my palms. Nobody notices how I cannot sit still. Does anyone even know I’m there? Someone tells a joke, everyone around me is laughing hysterically. I didn’t hear what the joke was, but I join in the laughter, hoping nobody notices how fake mine really is. They won’t. Nobody notices me. At least that’s how I see it.
By Brittany Lawrence8 years ago in Psyche
Definitional Essay of Depression
Depression Depression is a pit of emotions that is difficult to climb out of. Once you fall in, you must fight long and hard to exit. It is something I myself am still going through to this very day. Ever since my father, who was the only one in my family I really cared about, died when I was 11-years-old, I have been depressed. It is hard to describe a feeling of depression for everyone but, for me, it feels like a routine. The first part of that routine is waking up, my second part is trying to make it through the day, and the third part is going to bed finally. Each day has its high and low points but all days are plagued by the same nagging feeling that never seems to go away. Let’s discuss the three worst types of depression: suicidal depression, then depression caused by grief, and then depression due to being unconfident.
By Ghost Writer8 years ago in Psyche
The Mask that Hides Us
There you are, smiling, laughing, dying on the inside. It is a difficult life to live when you suffer from severe depression and have to function as a normal human being. People don’t understand the weight the disease has on you, and yes, depression is a disease. So you put on that mask, and pretend to be happy when all you really want to do is curl up and hide away from the world.
By Vanessa Cherron Riser8 years ago in Psyche
Depression and Its Day
For someone who suffers from depression, or who has suffered from depression in the past, will know how different one day to the next can be. For example, for a person who hasn't suffered or experienced depression, they know they will experience different actions, activities and interact with different people throughout one day. But individuals with depression don't really know what they will experience or what will happen.
By Tanisha Dagger8 years ago in Psyche
Daddy’s Girl
It was a sunny day in October. The sun was out, wind blew breezes from the tree. We were supposed to go to the pumpkin patch later in the day. It started just like all of my ordinary days. I got up, washed my face, brushed my teeth, got ready, and headed to work. I spent the first half of the morning working with my favorite manager, laughing and messing around through our shift. I’m a delivery driver and tips were good that day. I made over $40, which is a good day. I had no idea that later this day, I would decide I wanted to take my life.
By Alissa Corona8 years ago in Psyche
Just Get Over It
"Just get over it" is a sentence that I hear a lot, more so in the past but people still say it from time to time. See, I have been in a constant battle with anxiety and depression my entire life, but it escalated when I had someone very close to me pass away. Even after telling people that I have anxiety and depression and explaining that I cannot just "get over it," they still do not seem to understand.
By Ginger Curls8 years ago in Psyche
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.
By Final Thoughts8 years ago in Psyche
Time 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.
By Final Thoughts8 years ago in Psyche
Depression
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.
By The Glass Child8 years ago in Psyche
Signs 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.
By Sophie Heller8 years ago in Psyche
The 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.
By Samantha Wright8 years ago in Psyche
