recovery
Your illness does not define you. It's your resolve to recover that does.
Suicide Survivor
So, my kids' dad and I split up almost a year ago. We were having issues for quite some time, he says that it was before I even got pregnant that they started. After I had the twins it became worse and worse. I was constantly home with the kids alone while he was out working or doing his kickboxing. My mother in law would come and help me as much as she could. When we split I pretty much went into a downward spiral. We had voluntarily signed custody over to his parents while we figure ourselves out because neither of us were financially or mentally capable of being full time single parents doing it all on our own.
By Brie Smalley-Melmore8 years ago in Psyche
Suicide
I had a feeling of need to tell my story today; I don't know why but I am going with it, so here it is! OK guys I wanna tell you a story of a completely broken girl. It’s real, it’s messy and maybe hard to read. But I want to tell it in the hopes it may help someone else. Suicide! It’s real and people get so low they feel completely hopeless and don’t bother seeing a point in trying anymore. I know this because this is exactly how I felt.
By Dagny Desiree8 years ago in Psyche
Relapse
September 2017 seems worlds away now. I was discharged from the mental health services up in Yorkshire and moving my stuff back down South to London. I was in a good place. I'd completed therapy and, armed with my medication, I felt like I could take on anything. I felt like the world was my oyster, and that I could now cope without the help of professionals.
By Skylar Rose Pridgeon8 years ago in Psyche
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
