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Depression isn’t true, my dear Depression isn’t real. It’s just a silly tragedy You’ve forced yourself to feel. Anxiety is fake, my friend You wonder why it’s there. But others have it worse than you! Stop forming false despair. Cutting is dramatic, love, It’s ugly, and it’s dumb. Why not just get over it? Is the attention fun? Suicide is stupid, dear, And selfish, if I may. Get over yourself, darling, Can you hear these things I say? Why aren’t you replying, love? Oh, where could you have gone? I never meant to hurt you, love, Did I say something wrong? Why aren’t you replying, dear

I've heard so many people tell those who suffer depression to just 'cheer up.' I wonder if they can really believe that it's that simple. Depression isn't just sadness. It is emptiness, it is misery. It is pain and nothingness at once. When you are truly depressed you lack the ability or will to cheer yourself up. No one just 'has depression.' You suffer from it. This is depression: You will wake at 5, 6, maybe 7am, feeling as though you had only just fallen asleep. It's likely you did. If you don't have to be somewhere, you could lie in bed for another 3 hours...too tired, too miserable and pathetic to crawl out of you bed. Or maybe you wi

People on social media sites tend to glorify things that hurt. They brag about things that people struggle with. Mental illness is not a label. It is not a badge nor a privilege or something you have to earn. People suffer, they battle voices in their heads that they do not even recognize. People struggle to tame their inner demons and keep up an image that the world expects them to uphold. Mental illness is not cute, being so anxious you cannot speak is not a quirk. Relying on people to take care of you is not romantic. News flash! Your life is not an episode of Skins The idea of Effy and Freddie is fictional, no one is going to save yo

Dear Stranger, I'm leaving this post-it tucked in the side of the train-seat. If you're reading this, you've seen it. I've seen you sit here every few Monday mornings, sometimes tapping a bent, unlit cigarette against your thigh, sipping from your tea (who brings a tea cup onto a train anyway?); sometimes staring at the rain outside, or reading your well-worn, beaten copy of Jane Eyre (I hate that you fold the corners down - it's bibliophilic abuse. I wish the book would papercut you to defend itself a little, but I digress). You seemed so sad this Monday morning past. Please smile again. I love it when your eyes catch the light of something

"People who kill themselves are selfish." Well, darling, let me tell you a story, A story all too true. A daughter who became a wife, a wife who became a mother. A mother of three girls... One just above the age of a toddler, One at the age of twelve, And one entering the life of a married adult. Now, the youngest girl was watching television, And the oldest at the neighbor's home. The twelve year old daughter sat at a computer with her closest friend, When something terrifying happened. Her mother was in the kitchen, coughing. The daughter, although unable to see her mother, only could imagine the situation. The mother walked calmly p

You want to end it? Think of this. You write your suicide note... And you set it on the table. You take your razor, your silver, two inch razor. And you start to slide it across your wrist. You barely feel a thing. After all, the pain of life is more than the pain of the blade. And you take that belt you never wore, the one that was too tight, the one you starved yourself to fit into. And you wrap it once, twice around your neck... and you pull it tight. Barely breathing, you put the ends of the belt on something to hold you up. Something to strangle you. Something to kill you. And you die. And that's the end, right? Wrong. So, so wrong.

365 Things I Love About You 1. I love how you always make me smile 2. I love how you always make me laugh 3. I love the way you inspire me. 4. I love how cute and adorable you can be 5. I love the kindness that you show 6. I love how I can always be there for you 7. I love how you can always there for me. 8. I love how you stand up for the things you believe in 9. I love how open-minded you are 10. I love your gentleness with me 12. I love how you take my breath away. 13. I love thinking about you 14. I love how sweet you make my dreams 15. I love hearing your laughter 16. I love it when you smile 17. I love you still when you

I lived with my mother until I was eleven. She once told me that I was a planned child. Yet when I was twelve she told me she doesn't want me to live with her anymore because "she got her own life now". Now, if she would have been the jetsetting type, I might've understood. When you travel a lot a child can be a burden, limiting you in your personal fulfillment. But my mother spent her newly acquired own life on her butt on the couch, infront of the TV. Why do you want a child when you get rid of it after twelve years? I have my speculations about this. She separated from my father when I was five, first we went from one hotel to another, aft

               I have no face. There was a time when I may have owned one, but this is a fuzzy half-memory. In fact, it may be entirely an invention of fantasy. These days, regardless of my history, I know for a fact that I have no face. However, I have been granted a name: The American Obesity Problem. And I am growing in the United States. You may have seen me on television. You may have been witness to my disconcerting back cleavage and mystified by the seamless transition my legs make from my calves into my ankles. You probably saw my unsettlingly large, shelf-like behind as it strained against my tight Capri pants that I swore I would fi

You think depression is a choice? Well, honey, Do you think I choose To feel worthless? To feel empty, To feel sick to my stomach because I think too much? To feel broken, Lost, Constantly confused... To feel hopeless, Useless, Stressed out, Angry at myself.. To feel suicidal, sometimes without knowing a reason? To feel the need to lay in bed all day, Without moving a muscle, Because getting up would just make me want to fall back down? Honey, Depression is never a choice. You don't choose depression. Depression chooses you. We don't need ignorant people to choose us, too.

i. in 7th grade                                       i didn’t know depression until she told me her name, carving forever scratches along my limbs like little love notes on the bark of a tree. she stole my rings and left me hollow. ii. i had only ever met anxiety in passing, until one day he handed me power and told me to hurt someone else with it. iii. inexperienced, with an uncontrollable quivering in my fingers, he whispered, “ to survive, you must learn quickly.” as i shoved the bevel of a needle into a strangers arm. iv. so, if a therapist could talk away my scars like iodine disinfects, guide the ships through

I don't know when it started. When I'd gone a little off. When my mind had gotten twisted, And bubbled like a broth. I don't know when it happened, When I'd gone a little green. When I'd turned a little rotten; And dreamed a rotten dream. And I don't know why it happened, But this I know to say; Twenty-two are buried here, But twenty-three today... ...Now then, why don't we find some place nice and quiet (^_^) - Chen Yuan Wen, Broken World Series, 19th December 2013

I have a monster living underneath my bed. He’s made up of burnt frog skin, white-red cobweb veined eyes and a collection of missing pebble teeth. Sometimes we play scrabble. (The first time he was just a mechanical hum beneath the bowing wooden planks, he was just a faint smell of green and he was just a hot cloud of fog around my lips. It’s the wind, it’s the wind, I breathed. Then he breathed back, heavy and loud and monster-like; AM NOT.) He always spoke in capitals; MONSTERS ARE MUCH TOO SCARY FOR LOWER-CASED LETTERS, he informed me one night under pink covers. I shined the flashlight into his eyes until they changed co

Okay, before anybody starts to think this is some weird idea, let me explain. For anyone who knows how to write (and I mean, REALLY knows how to write), you understand that a good story has everything written out on paper first.  You know, stuff like Outlines, Plot Triangles, Character Profiles.  This might be of a challenge to some of you and tie you down, but unless you are capable of keeping every piece of information in your mind, this is a good resource to fall back on.  If you do not need this, then fine—you aren’t required to use it.  According to Science Fiction Writers of America, do