Before 9th grade, I never thought about mental illness and how it affected me. I thought my heart beating out my chest from a simple social encounter happened to everyone. I was formally diagnosed last year with PTSD, Social anxiety, Generalized anxiety disorder, Panic disorder, a sprinkle of OCD, and severe depression. There’s a lot more but I haven’t had a definite answer. I’m suppose to be taking Prozac and going to therapy but screw that. Contrary to what many people think, PTSD comes from many different traumatic experiences, not just war. Sometimes it stays for a little bit and other times it stays for a lifetime. My sister, Betty, had a stroke in 2006 that resulted in her being mentally handicapped. I spent a lot of time in the hospital, watching Betty become a stranger to me. I always looked up to my big sissy even though she enjoyed my brother’s presence more, and to see my role model not be my role model left me utterly confused. She was getting better, even walking, which the doctors pronounced impossible for her. It left hope in my family's heart that we would all be fine. In the very next moment, I was finding her bleeding out of her mouth, nose, ears. A bloody stream shaping the outline of her
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Showering takes as much work as math homework does. Rising from the comfort of my bed is harder than running a marathon. My interests, my hobbies become a chore to do. I struggle with everyday activities that shouldn’t be hard. We have been taught to do them since we were children, but for me it takes twice as much effort. Emptiness loams over me like a blanket a mother wraps tightly around a child. Loneliness hits me as if I were a vacant building. I either sleep for 13 hours or only four, leaving so incredibly prepared for school. Homework is left undone for days because it’s already hard enough to eat something. Depression leaves me exhausted from just walking to the bathroom from my
Showering takes as much work as math homework does. Rising from the comfort of my bed is harder than running a marathon. My interests, my hobbies become a chore to do. I struggle with everyday activities that shouldn’t be hard. We have been taught to do them since we were children, but for me it takes twice as much effort. Emptiness loams over me like a blanket a mother wraps tightly around a child. Loneliness hits me as if I were a vacant building. I either sleep for 13 hours or only four, leaving so incredibly prepared for school. Homework is left undone for days because it’s already hard enough to eat something. Depression leaves me exhausted from just walking to the bathroom from my