Depression EssayI don't believe in disorders; I think it's unethical to label people based on what some may see as shortcomings or inadequacies. I realize that I have problems, but so does everybody. Therefore, what purpose is there to brand a paranoid person with Paranoid Personality Disorder, a sad person as having Major Depression, or an energetic person as having A.D.D? I mean, there's no such thing as an excessive happiness disorder or a courage disorder or simply a unique individual disorder; why focus on the negative?More Like This
I wondered about these habits of society, about the human race, and about myself, as I sat quiescent and disillusioned through my repetitive, uninteresting classes of my senior year at Evergreen Valley High School. I've had senioritis since the end of junior year-causing me to choose the easiest and least amount of classes possible for my final year at EVHS. As the winter grew colder, it became apparent that I was plagued with more than apathy and contempt for the public education
DepressionLay down your right to be human.More Like This
Put on a dazzling smile so that no one can see your pain.
You hide it all so well, but underneath your shirt you can still feel the scars.
No one knows what it is like to be you.
Your smile is but one in a billion,
A mask that you wear to ward off the questions.
Your scars are your war paint,
But this is a losing battle.
You are sent to face the demons all alone, though they will never leave your side.
So keep that pretty smile steady,
And don't let one tear drop from those stormy eyes.
Put on your war paint and go out into the world, where your smile makes you just like them.
Mental Health AwarenessAt age five, a girl's biggest problem should be what to do at recess or who to sit by at lunch. Unfortunately, for those children with any type of mental illness, school - as well as life in general - can be filled with more complicated and stressful dilemmas. Take, for example, one girl in particular. Diagnosed with ADHD and oppositional defiant disorder while still just a toddler, any little thing could set her spiraling into a tantrum. I don't mean tantrum as in crying and throwing a fit on the floor; this girl would terrorize a classroom. Chairs knocked over, tables flipped on their sides, various objects flung about the room. The teachers had no other choice but to take the rest of the children out of the room and lock the girl inside until she'd calmed down. With anger problems like that, making friends was a rather difficult task. Most children would steer clear of her, not wanting to upset her for fear that she'd go off on another rampage. Because of this, the girl found that hMore Like This
I am not my illness. I am not my illness.More Like This
I've had depression for three years, and I used to hate the way my illness had changed me. I thought I could never be the girl I used to be. But my psychologist helped me to see that my illness can never change the inner me. In the end, I will have changed I will be stronger for this battle but my central values and the things that make me 'me' will always remain the same.
I am not my illness.
I have schizophrenia. People call me crazy, and avoid me, because I hear voices and talk to them. Maybe I am crazy sometimes, when I have an episode. But I'm not always crazy. I may be schizophrenic, but schizophrenic is not all I am.
I am not my illness.
The girls at school all tease me because I always stutter when I talk, and sometimes I try to speak but my mouth can't form the words. They call me retarded, dumb. I've never really had any real friends, all because I have autis
disorderedthere are monsters sewn inside my skin, a paperthin nest for them to hatch and eat away my insides. i let them devour me to the core, in gaping mouthfuls, sharp teeth digging away my flesh, pound by pound, spitting out just another wasted skeleton of a girl. they have removed my shrieking, hungry brain and fogged it with a slurry of dizziness and shaking fingers and an ache that perpetuates from my bones, exhaustion no sleep can sate. they are in my bloodstream, swimming through my dead girl veins, cutting trails through my slippery organs, dragging my slowed heart to a stuttering halt. they have becomeMore Like This
noisy voices mutter, a constant babble of hate words and thoughts of not good enough, not perfect enough, not beautiful enough. never enough. a sharp press of blade to bone sends them skittering away, sly and wary insects that only crawl back to bite down no matter how much i cut and bleed and scab and cut and bleed and scab, over and over