I got over my mental issues by insisting that I didn't have any. I've definitely been through serious bouts of depression and some truly psychotic mental breakdowns. However, being so close to the streets at the time (I was actually homeless fairly often) I eventually came to a choice: start functioning mentally, or die in a gutter.
And, assuming you're not set for financially for the rest of your life, that's where depression will eventually lead you as you care less and less for yourself.
I still have occasional delusions and hallucinations, social anxiety, and the like, but have learned to recognize harmful behavior patterns for what they are and today I don't really break down to much anymore. My mood swings are noticeable, but they do not overwhelm me, rather I just keep working through them.
Realize your brain is an immensely powerful thing. YOU decide if you are in control of it, or if you're gonna let your feelings get the better of you.
Find something you are really close to, or really, really like, like a video game or a Lets player on Youtube or something. the trick is, is that finding some positivity in your life will help, it takes your mind off stressful things and enlightens you in the moment.
Also, do you or did you have a person that you would look up to in your life, and love them care for them deeply, but somehow they came down with a life-threating sickness, or even died from it, causing stress on you till this day?
If so, I have a trick up my sleeves to help you. :3
LordGenitalsFeatured By OwnerNov 10, 2012Hobbyist General Artist
take an art therapy class where you express your emotions through art. vent everything out on your artwork and show it to a therapist that isnt an asshole, or show it to someone who runs(?) the building and ask them to assign you a different therapist. its hard to control, i know, but dont be too anxious to talk to the adults. tell the adult who assigns therapists to people why your therapy isnt helping.
You need to go back to school. If you have depression and anxiety, this will form a cyclical problem. Trust me - I stopped going to school in grade nine, hospitalized shortly after for spiraling depression, and being away from that daily structure just made it worse. Go back and write or draw or read all day. Don't even pay attention. Just go back. And try to get an appointment with a guidance counselor. Good luck.
Type what you're feeling, print it out, and show it to a professional. Bring a laptop to a session if you have to. The best thing for you to do right now is to get the depression and anxiety under control.
Not if you tell them that you have extreme difficulty expressing yourself through speech. Any good therapist should be willing to work with that, especially when they understand that it's caused by anxiety.
I ran away from school due to stress and pressure from the teachers that day. ( I'm in a character network class, or, to put it in a simpler matter, special class. )
I briefly mentioned I was upset in the morning, and one of the EAs called me out of the classroom shortly after and bombarded me with questions about my personal life, etc, and I did not want to talk about it one bit. However, she kept asking the same things in different manners (EX: What don't you like about the class?) and I cracked a little, saying something along the lines of "Can I please just be treated normally!? I don't want to be a in a special class! It's so hard for me! I just want to be treated like the other kids, I just want to be in a normal class! Please, I can't take this!!" and started to cry when she kept saying things like "Well, you're in this class for a reason, miss-depression." (Literal quote from her.)
She took me downstairs to the office area, and called my main teacher, Mr. Smith, over there. They said that I would be put in an empty room with the EA to talk to me, in which I said that I only wanted to be alone. When denied of this, I started to become even more upset, I cannot calm down when I am around people, I will only become worse. So instead, I asked for them to get my backpack and things. In which, I thought the EA did, until she came out with nothing and said "They're in the other room waiting for you.", I said no and I needed them here. After no response from her, I just stood there with my head leaned on the school's entrance door, staring outside, silent as a mouse. The EA confronted me again and told me to go into the room, in which I asked once again that she'd get my things. After she left the area and I was alone, I opened the door and bolted it, and ran for blocks, determined to find my way home (which was quite a ways away).
I was found by an undercover policeman and a normal policeman, in which then the same exact EA and my principal pulled up. I did not answer any of their questions, I was emotionless. I was put in the principal's car and was driven back to school, and I stayed in the car as they got my things and was driven back home as the EA and principal joked about my situation quietly, expecting I wouldn't hear them. I even heard the EA call me mentally disturbed/clinically insane. I would not move, talk, or look at anyone, as if I were lifeless. After multiple minutes of not cooperating, I walked towards the apartment building and my mom hung up the phone, which she was talking to COAST on. The principal and EA left, and me and my mom went back up to our apartment. I sat on the couch, leaning against a cushion in a fetal position, I would still not speak or look at my mom.
Eventually, I went back to normal after that shutdown and went back in my room with my laptop, trying to forget about what happened by watching a few videos or something, which worked. I was quite well, and I did not need any further help.
Until my mother came into my room saying that Anne (a social worker(?) that visits our house for sessions) was coming, and I freaked out, begging her to cancel and that I didn't need anymore help that day, and that it would be too much things on my shoulders. She said no and went back out in the living room, and I was flipping out, I was scared.
Eventually Anne arrived and I refused to come out of my room to see her, in which my mom came into my room and threatened to send me to a mental hospital if I did not come out to see Anne, in which I began to cry, I have a great fear of any type of hospital, mental hospitals being on the top of that list. I begged her to not make me go, absolutely terrified, in which she just said no, and that she was going to call the police to make me go if I continued to not cooperate.
After not hearing from my mom for a good 10 minutes or so, I heard her talking to someone other than Anne outside of my room and peeked out, seeing three policemen. I screamed, closing the door as quick as possible and collapsing onto the floor against it, crying and quite literally screaming and begging "PLEASE!!! MOM, PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME GO!! I'M SCARED!!!!".
One of the police officers came in my room, only saying that they were trying to help me. I only began to cry more, now shaking from fear. "PLEASE, MOM, I BEG OF YOU!!! PLEASE, I'M TERRIFIED!!!!"
I was eventually then, quite literally, dragged out of my room by the police officer, still crying. I struggled, saying that I was okay before Anne came, in which I was. A police officer scoffed and grabbed me extremely tightly by my arm, and I was then dragged out of the apartment, still screaming and begging not to go from fear.
I was then taken downstairs in the elevator, crying and screaming even louder, "PLEASE!!! MOM, I LOVE YOU, PLEASE!!!!!! I'M SCARED!!!" and was then put up against the police car and had handcuffs put on me extremely tight, digging into my wrists. My hair was in my face and my hat was nearly over my eyes, and I could barely see anything because of this. I was then thrown into into the police car, hitting my head on the plastic (?) thing, which left a huge bruise on my head in which I still have as we speak. I began to cry about how much it hurt, the handcuffs being so tight, my head, my arm.
While I was in the midst of being driven to the hospital, my wrists began to bleed from the handcuffs digging into my wrists. I cried louder, begging for the officer to take them off.
Once at the hospital, I was taken out of the car. I was not talking, nor screaming at this point, I just continued to cry. Nobody seemed to care much about the cuts on my wrists, and I was not questioned about it.
After a long night at the hospital, numerous conversations with psychiatrists, waiting rooms, etc, I was finally allowed to go home.
I have not slept properly nor gone without a day of suicidal thoughts since then.