recovery
Your illness does not define you. It's your resolve to recover that does.
Eyes of the Beholder
Isn't it funny how we can put on nice clothes, comb our hair, put on makeup and suddenly we look all put together. It’s crazy because underneath all of that I still feel flawed. People look at me and they think I’ve got it all put together. My Instagram is filled with filtered pictures because without one I feel like my skin isn't clear enough. I feel like my eyes don't look bright enough. I love being me then some days I hate being me. Constantly comparing myself to other women trying to figure out why I wasn’t born with this or that. It's deeper than that. I once read that when placed in a room, women look at others to make sure she’s the prettiest in the room. How terrible is that? Sad to say that I’ve done it multiple times before. Maybe because someone buried the idea that I was ugly in my head before I could make my own opinion about myself. Maybe I’m just not that appealing as I would hope to be. Either way, society has conformed our minds into thinking we have to have a certain look. Well, quite frankly, I’m over it. I cant deal with pressure to constantly change my look to be defined as beautiful. I’m ready to write my own kind of beautiful.
By Mariah Harvey8 years ago in Psyche
How Mental Illness Affected My Life
TRIGGER WARNING: sexual abuse, self harm, suicidal thoughts. Throughout my life, I have struggled with various mental health issues. At a very young age, I faced trauma that no person should have to go through. Starting when I was just five years old, I had to learn how to begin coping with sexual abuse. For ten years, I worried about whether or not I would be able to sleep at night without my abuser coming into my room at some point while I slept. And I never told anyone, until about a year ago. I am nearly 21 now, and I still struggle with many things, because I was never able to healthily discuss what happened to me. I have never known how to talk about my trauma without making jokes about it, and unfortunately, that is not exactly the way to live after abuse.
By Linda Fitch8 years ago in Psyche
You'll Never Take My Sanity! Part 2
Have a look at the photo above, if you will. Then go take a peak at my previous journal—it's the same photo. But it looks different, doesn't it? It's a bit more colourful, because I increased the saturation on it since last time. Otherwise, it's exactly the same—but it seems so different. Mental health issues have a way of doing the same thing—anyone who has them knows this. Those who don't have them have a hard time understanding it—I know this because I was one of the lucky few who never had any issues until the last couple of years (although, as you read through these journals, you'll find that this may not be actually true). Hence, the example.
By Justin Foley8 years ago in Psyche
Accepting Weight Gain
It is the most difficult part of eating disorder recovery. Letting go of the sick and emaciated body that you spent years striving towards, the safety of a ribcage that sticks from under your bruised skin, and the comfort in listening to anorexia and her sickening demands. Your body changes day to day, meal to meal, as it tries to readjust itself to a regular feeding schedule and a substantial food intake. Bloating, cramps, stomach pains and no appetite are all part of the refeeding process. But what happens after that? When your body gradually remembers how to digest something other than diet soda, and you can see the numbers scribbled in the weighing room begin to increase. There is plenty of support to get you back in a healthy, strong and functioning body, but little to none when you are faced with dealing with the unavoidable weight gain, and the new body you begin to see in the mirror.
By Rosie Carlile8 years ago in Psyche
Understanding the Problem
I grew up in an Irish Catholic family with parents who were divorced and angry and with siblings who tried their best to survive like me. I don't think I ever understood my siblings until I became older and realized that they were trying to get by just like I was. Ever since I was little I was seen by my family as being the "bright" one, the caring, happy, smiling one which set me apart from my siblings and mother who raised us. I remember running free in the grass barefoot collecting pretty rocks and playing with bugs and tiny creatures in the back woods.
By Cat Dempsey8 years ago in Psyche
Self Harm
Someone once told me that self-harming is a coward thing to do. They said that it is selfish to do. That it's a choice. It isn't always a choice. I don't remember what day I picked up a razor blade for the first time. I remember the reason why I did, though. I remember the sting of the blade cutting into my arm. I remember the overwhelming feeling of relief that washed over me after each cut. The same relief I felt each time I picked up the blade and touched it to my skin. I got that same relief with the snap of a hair tie or rubber band against the skin of the wrists. You can't take a razor blade to school, especially when the school itself upped its security measures after a bomb and gun threat was found in the school. You can, however, wear a rubber band or a hair tie on your wrist, in your hair, or even just put it in your backpack or purse. No one thinks anything of it. I remember I used to discreetly snap it on my wrists between classes and sometimes during classes. It was so easy to hide the marks with a jacket.
By Tori Quintanar8 years ago in Psyche
