Welcome to Midnight
The ball drops and fireworks. Resolutions are made. People scream and people kiss and is it possible to change? Is it really truly possible to leave the past behind?
Embracing My Scars
I’ve taken to calling the marks in my skin my “war wounds.” They are the scars that remained when the fight was finished, and the evidence that I was stronger than that which had tried to harm me.
The Reality of “Getting Better”
Better, when it comes to mental illness, isn’t charted with benchmarks or being able to say “I’m cured.”
He Was an Eagle
By telling our stories, we allow them to find the light, to find other people and other storytellers. Suicide took the power of storytelling from my brother.
The Catalyst of a Broken Heart
After my sister died, I did a lot of walking. I’d walk loops in woods behind my house; two, three, four times on the same trail.
I Was a Suicidal Therapist
I sat in an office all day telling clients all of the reasons to live, all of the ways to get out of depression, all of the things that made them important and why the world needed them. And I felt like a hypocrite each day, never believing a word I said when it came to myself.
Tell Them
When I used to feel suicidal, I felt so detached and numb. But having people vocalize their support—friends, family and therapists—made such a lasting impact, even though I didn’t realize it at the time.
How I Discovered My Depression—and Began to Confront It
I Found Therapy Through Music
Hilary’s death was a turning point in my life. I had struggled with depression, OCD, and anxiety for most of my existence, but I was afraid to tell anyone, except my mom, about it. I worried what other people might think of me. But when Hilary died by suicide, I realized I had to push past that worry and speak up.
Defying Definition
If I were to make a list of all the words I, or others, might use to describe me, it might include: “weird,” “inconsiderate,” “quiet,” “lonely,” “goofy,” “kind,” “awkward,” “focused,” and “depressed.”
She Is a Fighter
Her heart is pounding rapidly. Her head is throbbing. It feels like her chest is constricting and she can’t seem to catch her breath.
Depression, Acceptance, and Being a Girl Who Likes Girls
you question your worth as you attend therapy while your friends have slumber parties.
