recovery
Your illness does not define you. It's your resolve to recover that does.
Relapse
Every day we face choices that can destroy what we have worked so hard to overcome. We don't always notice them, but they are always there, standing right under our nose but just out of sight. It's possible to avoid these triggers if you have completely disassociated your addiction from your life. For some, it is a false reality that they will never face the gut-wrenching pull to pick back up their old habits.
By Hannah Homewood8 years ago in Psyche
Letter to My Friends...
How to write this without sounding immature, needy, or petty is going to be a challenge. How to write this without making you feel bad—oh gosh. If I do, I am sorry, that is not the point of this letter. I just know if I do not let people know where I am mentally I cannot get the help I need.
By Yedzayi Nenjerama8 years ago in Psyche
Body Image
3:07 and I can't sleep. Once again, it's because I am now so aware of when I am avoiding something and my spirit does not rest until I deal with it. In this case, it's because I've been avoiding writing about this topic, but here goes nothing—no class tomorrow anyway, so I can sleep in.
By Yedzayi Nenjerama8 years ago in Psyche
The Quitter Chronicles
I've dropped out of school way too many times to count. I graduated late, at the age of 21. Boy, did that ever hurt my self-esteem. I'd log into Facebook and see people posting university or college grad photos, while I was trying not to die off the pills I took. This feeling would make me take more pills. Probably take another big gulp of Bombay, too. You obviously don't know my story, but you'll learn my history soon. I'm three years into recovery. I only consume vaporized nicotine and synthesized caffeine now.
By James Harrison8 years ago in Psyche
The Thorns
At first, I thought that they were roses, for they appeared as so. I was very young when the vines first arrived. They entered through my bedroom window and I remember waking up with them tangled around my feet. I was confused but unafraid; they weren't a threat to me in the beginning. I could see the flowers that were so intricately laced within the foliage; bright red and brilliant, peeking out at me like tiny stars. Their scent was sweet, so strong that I remember having to blink back a few tears, but I didn't mind. Instead, I smiled to myself. Maybe I didn't have to be lonely. I never thought that something so beautiful would have the potential to do me any harm. I believed that the vines were meant as a gift, so when they began wrapping themselves further and further up my legs, I let them. When I first encountered the empty feeling, I ignored it. I let the vines take over, my denial sending me further into a prison I couldn't escape. I clung to one question that thudded numbly against my skull; how could something that smelled so sweet ever have potential to hurt me?
By Lindsay Harrison8 years ago in Psyche
Voices
Two Voices The earliest signs showed when I was in the sixth grade. The numbness followed by intense elation, I wasn’t too sure what was happening to me but it didn’t seem normal for an 11-year-old. The depression really hit a little after my twelfth birthday. However my lowest points didn’t show until I was in the eleventh grade. That was when I finally processed that something was truly wrong with the two voices in my head.
By payton lynn8 years ago in Psyche
How My Cats Saved My Life
I don’t really know what happened. One day I had the world at my feet, starting a nursing degree, new job, new car, moving into our first home and a perfect relationship. The next, I couldn’t leave the house and I barely moved, if at all, off the couch. I sat in silence most days, unable to eat, drink, or sleep and I couldn’t see a reason to continue trudging along.
By Samantha Jane8 years ago in Psyche
Long Road to Recovery
Last February, I was in the worst place I had ever been. Drowning under a career I couldn’t handle, struggling to pay those ever-mounting bills, dealing with my overbearing parents, and in the back ground, I was facing depression and anxiety.
By No One’s Daughter8 years ago in Psyche
When a Diagnosis Hits You Like a Freight Train
It was March of 2013 when I received the news, "You have primary sclerosing cholangitis." I had been experiencing intense abdominal pain the previous few weeks, had to call in sick for work multiple times, and had so many procedures and tests done to confirm the diagnosis. All my husband and I knew at the time was that PSC was a progressive liver disease that would one day most likely require a liver transplant (which I received in May 2016).
By Bethany Atkinson-Pegors8 years ago in Psyche
