HowIWasCured.com » Mental Health

There is Hope for Depression

Admin — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 18:12:47 +0000

I was a very obese kid growing up, but extremely intelligent. I didn’t get a long with my peers very well and was often considered to be an outcast. Most of high school, I didn’t have a very active social life. My mother was an OCD neat freak and made me afraid to go out in the world. Her fears became my fears and I became afraid of the world. My grandmother lived with us and she was emotionally abusive. My mother and step-father were in constant yelling matches with us and each other. Losing weight is hard and my home is filled with bad food. It was an awful time. I was so depressed I slit my wrists and needed a blood transfusion. I also hung myself and broke the branch. I also overdosed on meds. Needless to say I survived each attempt. I didn’t get my drivers license until I was 20 because I was afraid. I was a mess, a real mess. I was working a dead end job, making minimum wage and riding a bike to dead end job and living with my mother

The change was small and gradual at first. I started going to the gym three times a week for an hour. Then I started dieting. I lost weight. I’ve yoyoed but I’m 100lbs less right now than when I was big. I had flunked out of high-school. I went back to Adult Ed. Then I went to a community college to take remedial course. I got into a good college. I’m a year away from getting my B.S. in nursing. Most of the time I was depressed when I did this….because I was still friendless and I didn’t have emotional support.

A change then happened two years ago. I begin meditating and imagining a warm loving light around me. Those voices in my head that said,”you’re stupid.” I didn’t hate them back or fight them. Instead, I just used an imaginary technique and told them they were wrong and I love them and I love myself. I also started to consciously make an effort to find things I liked about myself and my life. Little things like how I liked my smile, and I was happy to have such a great computer. Lots of positive self-talk on my life and my circumstances. After a while I learned to love myself. Anyone, who was negative I avoided like the plague. These inner changes eventually manifested itself to where I was able to show love to other people. There isn’t anymore “fighting” with depression because for me the war is over. I cling onto positive thoughts.

Look I don’t know where my life is going. Sometimes I get downright depressed because I’m single. Sometimes I feel disheartened and tired. I still haven’t reached my fitness or academic goals. Depression comes sometimes but not as much as it used to. I’m not super depressed anymore…no suicidal urgings or anything. For the most part I’m content. I can live with content, much better than depressed. I’ve been this way for two years now. Its possible to end the cycle of pain by learning to accept yourself who you are, and looking at the positive aspects of life, and avoiding negative and unhappy people. Relapse and remission is forever unavoidable but it can be minimized and the triggers that make it occur can be removed.

Good luck!

My Story of Anorexia

Admin — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 23:15:01 +0000

My name is Laurie. I live in Florida. I’m a Junior in high school. I want to help.

I’m 16. This is my story…

I remember most of my childhood being FAT. Yes, the dreaded “F” word that teachers let you say in school. Most of my life I was tormented by other kids. I think I’ve heard all of the fat jokes. It got to the point that I was scared to go to school. The kids were really mean. They actually HATED me because I was fat. I even had a counselor at my after-school YMCA program make an example of me. She told some other kids that she used to be as big as me. It really hurt me too. Someone who was there to watch over me and make sure I was okay wanted to hurt me in front of other children. I hated my weight. I hated shopping for clothes too. Every time I went clothes shopping my size would get bigger. I finally got to a size 14 at age 11. I was 155 pounds and it was my last year in elementary school.

I really don’t know what happened from there. Some how I got the strength to lose the weight. I did sit-ups and ate healthier. I went from a size 14 to a size 11 in one summer. I was so proud of myself. It was my first year in Junior High School. I kept doing sit-ups and eating what I thought was healthy. I remember one day my mom and I went shopping again and I was a size 9. That was only a few months after school started. That only made me happier.

By the time Christmas rolled around my parents made me stop my sit-ups since they thought “I had lost enough weight.” That upset me more than anything. I remember locking myself in my bathroom and doing my sit-ups in there. I realized it was useless to sneak around so I stopped the exercise. After that, I ate less. Only Fat-Free and extremely Low-Fat foods. I remember at one time I actually cried because I was so hungry. Eventually, my hunger went away. I didn’t have a “taste” for food anymore. I got used to not eating. By the time Christmas was over I was a size 5.

My parents always made me weigh myself when we went to the stores. I hated going shopping because it was like a routine checkup in which if I lost weight I’d get in trouble. My parents wanted me to go to a therapist but I wouldn’t. I didn’t want help. I wanted to be thin. By the end of the school year I was a size 3. Then after a week of a 4-H summer camp that I wanted to go on I came back as a size 0. I remember eventually dropping to a size 00. I still can’t believe they carried that small of a size in the Junior department.

At the beginning of my 7th grade year I was called in to the nurses office. Someone in my school asked the nurse to weigh me. I still don’t know who. She asked me how I was losing weight. I told her I was eating healthy and exercising. She said I was 97 pounds. That was the last time I weighed myself until years later [which I'll talk about soon]. After that I still continued my normal [at least for me] eating habits. My mom and dad still pressed me for counseling so I finally did. It didn’t help. I was relieved that we got a bad therapist. She told my parents I wasn’t anorexic. She said, however, that I may have OCD [obsessive compulsive disorder], and went on to blame my parents for my problems and also said that she really couldn’t do anything else for me because besides my OCD everything was fine [she couldn't prescribe medicine for some reason]. So we left her.

I was happy to be done with that and kept losing weight. I didn’t think I’d have to go to another one but finally did. We went to a whole new place not affiliated with my previous therapist. She was really nice. We talked and she tried to help. She even tried to get me to slowly start eating. I still wouldn’t. Not even a salad! I also had to meet with a psychiatrist. She was the only one who could prescribe me with medicine and diagnose me with whatever I had. She told my parents I was definitely anorexic and that the anorexia was brought on by my OCD. I remember hating my doctor because of that. I couldn’t believe she was trying to say I was anorexic. I didn’t think I was.

She made me take tests at a hospital to check how I had been affected [I'm guessing] by my anorexia. I guess she wanted to prove to me something was wrong since I was too stubborn to realize it myself. After we got the test results I found out this: my heart beat was too slow, I had developed hypothermia from not enough fat in my body [which explained to me why I needed a sweater even in the midst of summer], and my liver had deformities in it from mal-nutrition. That’s when it hit me that I could probably be dead in a few months if I kept going on.

It’s a miracle that I wanted to get better. I never did before. I got to really like my psychiatrist after a while because I knew she wasn’t against me…she was for me…she wanted me to get better. And I kept seeing my therapist too… I loved seeing her…she helped a lot. I was prescribed many pills before I found a combination that would work for me and was on different combos of pills for years. I even fully recovered.

However, this year has started something. I am now 16 [17 in a couple of months] and a Junior in high school. This past summer I weighed myself after my boyfriend asked me to [he wanted me to get over my fear of scales I guess] and something snapped in me. I’ve been dieting again. I eat one low fat meal a day and only fat-free snacks besides that. I do sit-ups too again. I’ve lost a lot of weight in the last 2 months. My parents are worried it’s going to happen again. I even make myself throw up if I eat too much [I've only done it a few times though]. I just did it tonight. I felt like I had too much fat in my Christmas dinner. And it bothers me that I didn’t get to throw it all up [I waited until I could be alone to do it]. And I won’t take my pills anymore. I want to lose weight again. The scary part is that when I think about losing more weight and being maybe a size 3 again….it doesn’t scare me. I’m finding that things are happening now like they did when I was 11-13. I’m confused and alone…but I’m too stubborn and strong-willed to stop. I want to keep losing weight but I don’t want to die. I can’t stop again…I’m lost again…

My Story of How I Cured Severe Anxiety

Admin — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 17:14:32 +0000

by Apryl Myers

Hi! My name is Apryl Myers. I have had severe depression and anxiety disorder for pretty much my whole life, but got worse after I had a kid. It may have been because I lived in an abusive home, and had a blind woman for a mother, but either way, I am the way I am today whether it came from that or not. Like you I have tried a variety of pills and all seemed to work for a little bit, then I lost interest in taking them, and/or felt they weren’t working. What i found that works for me is the three steps of keeping my body sane (naturally). One, mentally. I started going to school, and am learning new things every day. It seems to help me feel like I’m doing something with my life, instead of having my mind on idle that seems to be where depression starts off. Two, physically. I participate in running almost every day, which is a bit extreme for some, but makes me feel good when I do. It makes my body kick natural endorphins around and makes me feel positive about my body’s future. Finally, the third thing is spiritually. Whether be Yoga, or some form of religion, getting in touch with the world makes you feel good about your far future, calms you down, and tends to make you think happily about your life. Right now I wish I could say that I was doing all three of these, But I have seemed to fall off two of them (maybe just because school has had its summer) But I can tell you that if any one decides to do this, They will feel an increase in happiness and well being in there life. Just try it out small, and then go from there!

My Story of Depression (and How I Cured It!)

Admin — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 23:07:05 +0000

by Rob Dee

What depression feels like

There I was – I had everything in the world that I ever wanted. A loving partner, a happy home life, doing the things that I love with my partner. I couldn’t wait to get home from work every day. She was my best friend.

But one day, I was overcome by sadness and sorrow. All I wanted to do was be alone. I didn’t dislike my partner or my friends or my family…but I felt like I was stuck inside my own head…my only desire was to be alone, to hide from everyone and everything. I had felt like this from time to time for as long as I can remember. A lot of times, this feeling would coincide with negative things that were happening around me…a break-up, stress at work, bad times at school, band issues, family issues, etc. This sort of feeling might be expected when life throws things at you. But this was different. There wasn’t anything negative going on in my life at the time. I didn’t have any reason to feel this way. Everything was great. But there was nothing to prevent me from feeling the sadness, the sorrow, the desire to be by myself. She was concerned. I assured her that I was stuck in my head and that there was nothing that she did to make me feel like this.

There was nothing to make me come out of it…after an argument, the important things like our relationship and quality of life became more important than depression. I love this woman more than anything. She insisted that I see a doctor and try to get the depression I was experiencing under control. I tried several times to make an appointment, but the various doctors would reject my health insurance provider or the doctors would say that my insurance wouldn’t cover my visits. As you can imagine, I was entirely frustrated.

Fast forward a few months…we had just moved to a new house. I had a few days off work to get the new house in order and finish up the loose ends of the old house. The feeling returned…except this time, my partner wasn’t so understanding. Things were grating on me. I didn’t want to talk to my partner about these things because she was going through a tough time with her job, and the move herself. I didn’t want to burden her down any further. I was also resentful towards her son – not that he was doing anything wrong. I should have been angry with her and the way she handled the situations…but this was difficult because of the way I feel about her. I love her more than anything. The feeling of despair was still there…but worse due to our failing relationship.

She told me it was over.

I tried to kill myself and almost succeeded. Counseling and medication have helped some, but there’s nothing they can do to mend my broken heart.

I’m still down. I miss my partner more than anything.

What to do if you feel depressed

Here are more symptoms to look for:

“Depressed individuals often blame themselves for negative events, depressed individuals have negative beliefs about themselves and an assessment of the person’s current mood and thought content, in particular the presence of themes of hopelessness or pessimism, self harm or suicide, and an absence of positive thoughts or plans.

major depressive episode is characterized by the presence of a severely depressed mood that persists for at least two weeks. Episodes may be isolated or recurrent and are categorized as mild (few symptoms in excess of minimum criteria), moderate, or severe (marked impact on social or occupational functioning). An episode with psychotic features – commonly referred to as psychotic depression – is automatically rated as severe.”

Low mood, down in the dumps, despair, sorrow, insomnia, stuck in your head.

If you feel like this, please try to seek help and consult with a health care professional.

If you feel like you can’t go on, please call the National Suicide Hotline. 1-800-784-2433 I’m sure there are a lot of folks who know you that care. Think of the people you’ll impact if you kill yourself. As much as I want to die sometimes, one thing that has kept me alive is knowing how much this would devastate my mom and my brother.

The success rate for counseling and prescribed anti-depressants is high. Seek help if you really want to beat this silent killer.

Depression is a very real health issue. It doesn’t mean you’re crazy or mentally retarded. If you suffer from it, please seek help.

Do You Really Understand?

Admin — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 22:12:53 +0000

In the eight years I have suffered from depression, I finally realized today that I have never put down on paper how I feel and felt; throughout it all, that’s bad! Maybe it’s because putting it on paper would give it the finality of admitting I have depression. Whatever the reasons, I decided it was about time I told my story. I think an explanation of the title is a good place to start, since it took some thought to finally decide on the title of “Do you really understand?” Throughout my history of depression people often say they understand what I have been going through. I used to say it myself before I started suffering from depression, but now that I have “been there” it is my belief that no-one can truly understand the living hell of depression unless they have been there themselves. So on to my story.

The first time I realized something might be wrong was when I was about 22/23 and people at work began saying I was moody, snappy, grouchy and sad. I, of course denied it saying everything was fine, until one day someone asked me whether I thought I was suffering from depression. “Who, me?” I said. Never, could I be depressed, I was the one people turned to for advice; I was the one who was always smiling, had the optimistic outlook on life. Well, at least I used to be. The more I thought about things the more I realized I had become, pessimistic, miserable, snappy, grouchy…all the things people said I was, but still I didn’t think I had depression, maybe a virus or a bug. I took myself off to my GP, explained everything to him. He too felt I was depressed, suggested I maybe start some antidepressants. Okay I thought, I’ll take the tablets, I’ll show everyone it’s not depression. The weeks went by, I still felt lousy, in fact I felt worse, dizziness and nausea had set in, so I went back to my doctors. He still felt it was depression but that maybe those antidepressants weren’t suited to me, so he changed them. I still wasn’t convinced I had depression, but I took the tablets, figuring I could prove to everyone it wasn’t. Things went from bad to worse, I was moody, crying for no reason and the tablets had terrible side effects, so much so I collapsed at work one day. My GP tried another antidepressant. Okay now I was beginning to think maybe there was some truth in the fact I was suffering from depression, still it didn’t mean I accepted it. One turning point in my life was the day I couldn’t stop crying. The tears were just flowing with no reason. Enough was enough; I went to my GP sobbing. He too felt more help was needed. He finally referred me to a psychiatrist. Even then I still wouldn’t (couldn’t) accept I had depression.

I saw the psychiatrist a few days later, lots of questions were asked, lots of soul searching was done. The psychiatrist said I had clinical depression. Could I accept I had depression? NO. I still didn’t want to believe it.

Anyway, the psychiatrist changed my medication put me on Prozac. It helped a little, but not much. There were days when the thought of getting out of bed was just too much, but I did, I still had a job, one where people depended on me. Don’t ask me how I did it, because I don’t know, but I did and I went there pretending everything was fine, I told no-one I had depression, thinking that they would label me, think me incompetent, after nurses can be the harshest judges of all, I should know I am one.

I eventually did tell some of my friends at work about my diagnosis, they were brilliant, looking back now, I have some amazing friends and I just regret not telling them sooner about my depression.

It was hard continuing to work, I didn’t trust myself to do things, jobs that usually took 5 minutes took 10 minutes because I would check and double check things, all because I didn’t trust myself to do it right, after all how could I, when I was a hopeless failure?

There were days when the world felt it was too much for me, when I wanted to hide under the duvet and shut out the world. Somehow the world always found me again.

The next part of my story is the most difficult part for me, I still find it hard to talk about, as I still can’t accept I got this low, it is the first time I have ever wrote this down. I realize that not talking about it may lead to problems in the future, but my inability to accept that I was ever once like this prevents me from talking to anyone, besides how do you start a conversation about suicidal feelings that you had 3 years ago? Also, not many people know about it, not even my psychiatrist.

Some days were worse than others, but I kept going. I was seeing my psychiatrist on a regular basis and by this point my medication had recently been increased. My psychiatrist would ask me questions; ask if I had any thoughts of self harm or suicide. My reply was always no. I lied. There were days when I couldn’t see a way to go on, days when I thought the world would be better off without me. They were suicidal thoughts. No-one knew what I was thinking, no-one could.

One particular day sticks in my mind and it will remain with me forever, I was alone in the house, the world was against me, I hated me, what was the use of living? I went downstairs and held the bread knife in my hand. I ran it lightly over my wrists first, planning on where to cut, then something stopped me, maybe the thought of what I would leave behind, maybe the fact that I didn’t really want to do this, maybe the fact I realised I was desperately crying out for help, I don’t know even now, 3 years on I still can’t say what stopped me pulling that knife hard and fast over my wrists and ending it all. What I do know is I am glad I didn’t do it.

I saw my psychiatrist the next day, said I felt at an all time low, although I never revealed my suicidal thoughts. My medication was increased, as well as arrangements for me to see a cognitive behavior therapist and a psychologist. From there things got better. Okay I had my down days, my down weeks, but on the whole life was worth something again.

I also began seeing a counselor, and over the weeks, episodes from my life emerged that helped me understand why I was suffering from depression. I finally began to realize it wasn’t my fault I had depression and this realization helped me finally accept that I did have depression. No-one can help having an illness, including depression.

I saw my psychiatrist for the last time about a year ago in 2001/2; he discharged me from the mental health services, on the advice to continue with the Prozac for a further 6-12 months. Life is good again now, at the moment, I know the depression may return, but if it does, then so be it, I know now what to look for, the early warning signs and symptoms.

My Story of Mania

Admin — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 03:32:38 +0000

by Scott

It all begins with a lucid dream I had… I was walking up to my high school’s football field as all of the school stood in the bleachers waiting for me but I had come up from behind to where the cheerleaders and dance team were. I remember one girl yelling, “Hey Scott!” from the bleachers and then another girl saying, “Look, smile!” A third girl had run up to me to take a picture of me with her camera. Before she did, I looked to my left and saw my girlfriend and she said hi to me very excitedly and my body filled with warm joy and excitement. It was a rush. Quickly I looked back to the camera and smiled. The flash blinded me for an instant and within that half a second I had realized that I was in fact dreaming. When I looked back to my girlfriend I realized she was actually now my ex-girlfriend. A dark wave of depression swarmed my insides. Once lucid I realized she had just broken up with me a few days before. At that moment I wished to die. And I did. My body, my soul started to fall down to the grass but fell through to an abyss of brief darkness to which I then woke up to my body feeling dead as I was sprawled out on my basement couch. This dream, I believe, is what induced my month-long episode of mania.

The week before this dream I had been suffering greatly from depression. I had been very sick for almost a month with bronchitis and congestion. I eventually tested positive for mononucleosis after a painful trip to the ER resulted in a blood test. I had been in excruciating pain for days because of a severe sore throat. The pain was unbearable. I couldn’t sleep or eat. The pain had been radiating into my jaw and my tongue. I was absolutely miserable. When I told my girlfriend that I had mono her response to me via text was … Dot, dot, dot. It didn’t make her too happy with me I guess. She broke up with me 3 days later. I loved her and could not get over her. This was the main reason for my depression. I was lonely and ill. Distraught, I was on the verge of losing my sanity. I did soon thereafter.

During this same week, my best friend of 12 years told me he was going to be sent away to a residential hospital for 4-5 months with contact only through letters. So, I lost my girlfriend, best friend, and physical health within one week. Mono of course made me miss school for a month so I also lost my chance for an advanced diploma. I was about to lose my future. These events caused me to lose everything I loved. I cherish all memories before this point because after these events I lost yet another item of mine, my mind.
I might as well have been on acid for 30 days. I was hallucinating. I was hearing voices. My writings appear to be schizophrenic. I spent all my money in one week, an entire grand wasted. I could see TV in 3-D, I thought I could walk on water, I thought I could time travel, and I thought I would be able to fly. Very late in my episode I truly believed that I was the second coming of Jesus Christ and that I was going to save the world. These are some of the things at the top of my head that I remember doing. I don’t remember much. This might sound unrealistic but I assure you I believed these things 100%. I was convinced I was a super being, a super hero. I spent days upon days trying to time travel. It felt like being in a movie. It was like being high on life. I was manic. I know it’s hard to believe, but all of these things became my passions. I felt destined to acquire these abilities and my explanation for everything was that I was stuck in a dream. I woke up that day believing I was still in a lucid dream. And for the next 30 days I lived like it.

The first thing I remember doing is taking 3-D glasses, a toilet paper roll, and my iPod and getting high off staring at the rainbow that appeared when I looked through the 3-D eye tube I had made. I then lay on the ground for several hours staring at the ceiling light as I tried different combinations of going cross-eyed. I got high off going cross-eyed over 100 times. Even today going cross-eyed still fascinates me. At one point I was in a parking garage and when I went cross-eyed, I hallucinated a yellowish grass field around my car with a blue sky. Another significant hallucination I had was when I watched TV. I would see everything in 3-D. Even cartoons and pictures too on LCD screens. I remember going to the mall and being astounded that the weatherman was popping out of the screen as I walked by. One thing I tried to do many times was making water appear on my glasses using my eyes. I would also try to bend light and melt water bottles. I spent a lot of my time on my deck just staring into the sun and smoking cigarettes. I got very addicted to cigarettes during this time, a pack day and now I can’t quit.

One day I went to school during my manic episode and I ended up writing a 25 page hand-written essay on why one equals zero, 1=0. I called this the equation of faith. I believed that numbers were all limits and that language was not capable of ever representing the concept of infinity properly. To me infinity is a belief, not a number. I believed that I had broken a barrier into the spiritual realm by proving 1=0. This was another explanation I gave to myself for why I was feeling these new feelings. I believed that I had crossed over.
To be mentally insane temporarily and then going back to normal is called the slip back into reality. This occurred when my psychologist and psychiatrist convinced me that I was not in a dream. I didn’t believe them for a while until one day it hit me. I then became depressed again for a week or so, but then back to hypo manic. This is when I was diagnosed bipolar. Within a year I had been diagnosed with anxiety disorders like panic disorder and OCD and then I was diagnosed ADHD. I am currently on 6 different prescribed medications yet I still have minor panic attacks every day and I struggle with ADHD constantly.

Each medication I’ve tried or am on currently has been a drug experience for me. Zoloft was the first prescribed medication given to me for my anxiety problems. It took 2 weeks to kick in but I remember being at work when I felt a buzzing feel for no apparent reason. I felt it again the next day and that’s when I realized that I also felt more confident and relaxed. I became high on life for weeks following because of my new found level of happiness from the Zoloft. As I built a tolerance for it and got used to it my prescription went from 20 mg to 50 mg to 100 mg. At that amount the drug started to have negative effects on me. I had mild to severe night sweats almost every night for 1-2 months. I also acquired anorexia nervosa which led to my losing 15 pounds and I puked in my backyard almost every night. I was skinny and unhealthy looking. After my doctors put me down to 75 mg of Zoloft I started to reverse the damage. I never gained the weight back because at that that time I was diagnosed with ADHD and was put on Adderall. I was having major problems with sitting still for a long time. I was squirming all the time in my chair and everyone that’s had a class with me knows I bounce my legs during class from start to finish. My problem with my legs is now possibly a neurological movement disorder. By some it’s simply called sewing machine legs. So, they put me on 20 mg of Adderall which later became 30 mg. I noticed the buzz the first days I tried it. It caused me to do my AP English homework for the first time in months and I would actually do my Spanish homework on Adderall. Another medication I was on at that time is called amitriptyline. This medicine simply helped my physical condition. I had been diagnosed IBS, irritable bowel syndrome, and hyperhydrosis, excessive sweating, due to anxiety. This medicine helped in combination with Zoloft greatly. These are the prescriptions I had before I got mono.

During my manic episode I was thoroughly convinced that I was going to win the lottery. At one point I decided that my wishes would come true after sleep. That’s the only reason why I slept except one time I stayed up for 72 hours. One day I woke up convinced I would finally win a certain lottery ticket for $2,500. I told my parents I was walking to the gas station. With me I brought my iPod, cigarettes, lighter, my cell, and my friend Greg’s cell phone because he had left it in my car before he was sent away. It was a clear sunny day and as I walked towards the gas station I said to myself lets go on an adventure. I walked down Fairfax County parkway and as I went I thought I was seeing clues, signs. I followed the clues and eventually I thought that if I stared at the sun and rotated, I could control time. I also thought that I was a shock and that I could charge Greg’s dead phones battery. This is when my first auditory hallucination occurred that I remember. I called Greg’s voicemail and the voicemail lady started to talk to me, which is impossible. This happened again with my own voicemail later that day because I thought she was telling me how to time travel. Continuing on the journey I walked to an underpass tunnel where I tried to levitate, walk on water, and crawl into another dimension. Doing these things and believing that I had achieved them led me to believe that I would eventually become a superhero. That’s how crazy I was. Even though during this period I told myself that I was crazy, I still was completely oblivious to how crazy I really was.

Time travel is not possible today, but while I was manic I truly believed that I was capable of it. I thought I needed time travel tools to do it. My tools were noise cancellation headphones, a non-working watch, 2 bracelets, an iPod, a timer, a bell, and a color-changing clock. I would go into my basement bathroom with these items, completely naked with sharpie drawn all over my body and try to time travel. I would shut off the lights and then turn on the fan and then I would set the timer to a specific number and then walk out the door hoping the world was frozen in time. I tried this repeatedly with my other time traveling methods. My other method was to change the time on my computer to the time of my choosing which would then change the world’s time. I repeatedly tried to stop time with this too and because I believed my computers clock was almighty, I accidentally kept my computers date to a day behind which left my memory of dates entirely disoriented. This is the reason why I forgot my Dads birthday on March 3rd, a month after I first entered my manic episode, because I thought it was March 2nd even though I had set my clock to one day behind an entire month prior to this. My actions affected my memory.

On the computer I would see my music Myspace for Safe Bet glow and because my nickname in the band was The Preacher I thought it was fate that I seemed to be having some type of religious experience. That’s how it felt. I came to the conclusion that all humans are the sons or daughters of God and that we all possess potential capabilities that are limited due to our inhibitions. I now doubt all beliefs I have; I question the reality of it all after having this episode.

During my episode, my inhibitions were released and I experienced natural intense euphoria. It was like being high all day every day. I was in a good mood, I was energetic, and I was happy. This was unlike me considering this began only 1 week after a break up that left me intensely depressed. I had become confident, I felt completely over my ex-girlfriend. I didn’t know why I felt so good or why I was seeing TV in 3D. I questioned it, but only to myself. It drove me to insanity, as I went through spirals of theories. Sometimes I knew I was acting strange but I didn’t care. I thought I was right. I thought I was Jesus.

To relate to someone with bipolar disorder, you have to have done some type of mind-altering drug. Imagine that bipolar disorder is like having an unwanted drug in your system. It intensifies emotions on both sides which can lead to manic episodes and depressive episodes but does bring out creativity. Bipolar disorder is known commonly but actual manic episodes are unexplained and remain a mystery to the general public. If you’re normal then you can be grateful and by normal I mean someone that doesn’t need daily medications. I am drugged up by 6 different medications for my mental illness. That’s how much it takes for me to feel almost normal. I’ve only been treated for under a year for my mental problems so I grew up in what I considered a cruel world. I constantly struggled with stabilizing my emotions my entire life, but I never knew what to do. I had to admit I had mental problems, and tell my parents to take me to a psychologist. This has helped me a lot and I have conquered many problems over the last year. But, the years worth of therapy didn’t prepare me for the manic episode and afterward.

The slip into reality is when someone in a manic episode finally accepts that they had one. They go from feeling like Jesus to feeling like a dud. I got incredibly depressed because I was so disappointed in myself. I thought my dreams were going to come true. I thought I had special powers. I was a maniac.

Here is a quick bio that my Mom had to write for my appointment at the neurologist:

Scott was diagnosed with anxiety in the summer of 2008. Our primary care physician, Dr. Long, prescribed Zoloft, beginning with a low dose. Scott had some improvement. Scott had adverse reactions as higher doses were given including sweating. Scott still felt anxious and expressed feelings of going crazy and Dr. Long recommended Dr. Arons. When beginning psychiatric treatment with Dr. Arons in December of 2008, he was given a diagnosis of ADHD and Adderall was prescribed. In January 2009 Scott was diagnosed with mononucleosis. A few days later his girlfriend broke up with him and his close friend, Greg, went into Graydon Manor to treat depression and addiction. These experiences were traumatic. Scott then experienced manic and hypo manic episodes for about a 4 week period during February. Initially he was treated with Zyprexa. In March he was taken of Zyprexa and Abilify was introduced and then Lithium. During his manic episode Zoloft was discontinued. After the mania, Scott was prescribed again Zoloft starting in low doses and then increasing to the current 75 mg daily dose. Zoloft was reintroduced about the end of March. He is currently not manic or hypo manic. As his mother and observer of his day to day activities, I think he is still suffering from depression. He sleeps frequently during the day. He is o a reduced school day schedule and is taking 2 high school classes in order to graduate. It is difficult for him to focus on activities (except playing music, his passion). Focusing on school activities is very difficult. Reading a literary novel which holds no interest, impossible. He can no longer even enjoy the pastime of watching TV and sleeps instead. Attendance is sporadic at school for various health reasons, tired, not feeling well, nauseous, etc.

Obstructive Sleep Paralysis

Admin — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 20:14:51 +0000

by Amanda

I am 26 years old. Since I was 13, I’ve experienced sleep paralysis, vivid nightmares and awareness of my surroundings during sleep. The absolute terror that accompanies these experiences is hard to describe because there is nothing that I can compare it to.

Tell me if this sounds familiar to you: (1) I would “wake up”, lying on my back–trying to figure out if I was having a dream or not (I still don’t know). (2) I sensed a presence focusing on me intensely. I could not see it, but every part of me said that it was there and that I was in extreme danger. It seemed to be a male presence but not something living (3) I couldn’t move. Not even a pinky. A couple of times, after A LOT of effort, I would be able to move my head to the right to try to get a look at it. This freaked me out even more. I compare it to what a fly feels like when it’s caught in a web and the spider is coming to get it. The fly knows that the spider is going to eat it and that it can do nothing to stop the spider. The fly can only sit there and wait for it to happen. (4) I couldn’t breath, except for shallow, quick breaths–it was because I was overwhelmed with fear. (5) The “thing” got closer and closer as I got more scared. Sometimes, the “thing” would get close to my face (I couldn’t see it–only FEEL it) and I could feel it staring at me. I would feel myself being lifted off the bed and my terror would escalate. (6) I would always wake up at this point because I was so worked up (I think that’s why). I ALWAYS woke up at the same time: 4:00 in the moring give or take three or four minutes. I had this “dream” for about six months straight.

One night, after another episode, I got sick and tired–actually desperate– of being so scared. I got up and started yelling at the “thing”. I told it to leave me alone, that I wasn’t scared of it anymore. I was lying, of course, but saying those things out loud gave me courage. After that, every time I had an episode, I was able to move around and resist a little bit more each time. Eventually, they just dwindled away. I still have vivid nightmares. They used to only be about houses. I would visit these houses that I’d never been in and explore them. Again, I would sense a presence watching me from a distance but my explorations allowed me to evade it. Several days later, I would revisit the dream and come face to face with it…playing cat and mouse. The dreams were VERY realistic and I felt extremely alert during them. I would usually wake up from the same breathing difficulty associated with terror. I would be lying on my back and it was usually 4a.m. when I woke up. Alot of times, my boyfriend would hear me whimpering and wake me up. I thought that I was being stalked by evil spirits (in real-life). This went on until last year.

Finally, in one dream, while the ghost and I were in the middle of “cat and mouse”, I gathered up enough courage to stop running from it and slammed a door in it’s face. I never had another one of those dreams again. Now, I dream about aliens and deserted, run down school buildings, but it’s very rare and without the intensity of the other dreams that plagued me for years. I even have nice dreams sometimes. Other that that, my dreams are benign, which suits me fine. I still experience acute awareness during early stages of sleep and my body feels like it’s tingling. I would guess it can be called an out-of-body experience where my spirit lifts itself only so far out of my body. This still spooks me because I feel so alert and I get that “being watched” feeling. Overall, though, I believe that my experiences are part physiological (heightened awareness can be related to changes in barometric pressure, thunder storms, etc and sleep paralysis is a biological event that happens every night to actually KEEP you asleep) and part psychological(spiritually). I do not feel that they are paranormal, although I used to believe that. I look back at them now and I see a pattern of terror related to one basic thing: perilous situations that were beyond my control–the fly syndrome.

When I learned to face the terrors and have courage in the dreams, the nightmares dwindled away. When one kind went away, another one took it’s place but it wasn’t as bad as the previous. Note also, that my “acts of courage”, so to speak, were not much; merely enough to symbolically give myself enough strength to stop running away from the the things that I feared. For me, what I feared most was not the things stalking me, but the situation itself. My suggestion to you is to look at the nightmares and ask yourself what it really was that made you so scared…was it the the “thing”, ghost etc., or was it something else? Like I said, for me it all boiled down to the lack of control over the situation. That scared me more that the ghosts or the “thing” because I felt defenseless. I’ve learned so much about myself and am a much more spiritually secure human being, now. I found that when I faced my fears in the dreams I was more capable of overcoming self-doubt, fear, depression and insecurity. Also, I’m not saying that I had the nightmares because of a control issue. It was a defense issue for me. Defenses that I only recently aquired in real-life. My advise to you: go to sleep with courage.It doesn’t take much of it to fight back. After you fight back, it’s not as bad the next time. You will eventually come out of the experience a stronger person.

Escaping the Bondage of Bulimia

Admin — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 23:24:08 +0000

by Stephanie

The first time I forced myself to vomit was halfway through my first semester of college. I had restricted my eating and binged through out high school. I went through all four years feeling completely miserable in my body. I never acted on my feelings in a recognizable way until I left home and was able to without anyone noticing.

My roommate and I had ordered pizza that night, having planned to avoid the cafeteria and treat ourselves to something edible. I ate the pizza we ordered until I was uncomfortable. I had done this before and, as usual, was consumed by feelings of guilt, fear and revulsion. I felt like I had to do something, I resolved to not eat again, to exercise twice as hard the next day and of course spent the evening berating myself.

My roommate who I’m sure was fed up with my complaining told me to just throw up if I felt that bad. At that time I had never considered myself as someone with and eating disorder. I thought that every girl secretly hated her body and that I was just honest enough to admit it. When she suggested it, I knew it was a bad idea but it seemed like such a good solution. It was not something that I thought about becoming a habit. Just had to do something to get that feeling out of me.

I took a tongue depressor from a first aid kit I had. I went into the bathroom and shoved the tongue depressor to the back of my throat. I was finally successful. My eyes were burning and teary, My throat hurt, my head hurt and my stomach felt crampy, but I felt better. I felt empty and I confused that emptiness with calm. At that point I really had given up on myself and I don’t think that I was really feeling anything.

I began to exercise twice a day. Running in the afternoon alone and in my room at night with my roommate. We would run barefoot in our underwear in front of a mirror so that we could see how our bodies looked. I was sore all the time, knees ached, hips were tight but I liked it. I enjoyed the pain. It seemed normal, I felt athletic.

I would skip lunch and wait all day for dinner and then gorge myself. I would make sure that I made it back to m;y room in time to throw up before my roommates made it back. I had begun to use a toothbrush to gag myself with. It was easier than using my fingers and no one would notice if I took my toothbrush with me anywhere.

I was always rushing around, hiding from people. The few friends that I made when I first got to school stopped trying after I began acting to strange. The one girl from home who went to the same school was suspicious. I was so tired and grumpy and thin, I knew that she knew something and so I stopped hanging out with her.

When I went home for winter break everything fell apart. I was exhausted. My roommate had dropped out and went home. I was sad that she was leaving, she was really my only friend at school. It was also scary because she was as bad off as I was and I felt OK if she was there. Now I was going to have to do it alone. When I got home I was pretty unbearable. I was so stressed because I couldn’t throw up at home and that was how I had been dealing with stress for the past three months. I was so sensitive and irritated with my friends. We wend out for New Years Eve and got into a huge fight. I was so lost, I had no idea how harsh I was being with them. I had to have my mom come pick me up and I didn’t talk to two of my friends for months. There is still one girl that I’m not friends with anymore.

When I got back to school I knew I had to change things. My friends from home all knew and had told the girl from home that went to school with me, so she was occasionally checking up on me. I think that even though I hated that, I needed it. I also was lucky in that my roommate was recovering from bulimia and she encouraged me to get help. It was in her best interest as well, so she really helped and was supportive. I saw a counselor at the service on campus. She helped me to get out a lot of the bad feelings I was having and to find better ways to deal with them. When I left school in June I was not throwing up any more. I have seen counselors off and over these past four years and it has been two since I threw up last. I still struggle with body image but as I get older I am more able to see that it is not that important and I know now that if I will not be able to keep weight off that I’ve lost, I should not even begin to try to lose it. I had a lot of support and still do.

My Story of Anorexia

I Think I’m Finally Over Social Anxiety

Admin — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 04:51:09 +0000

Hello, friends! I’m not great at introducing myself, but my names Justin and I’ve had social anxiety for about 13 years now. I am about to turn 29 and lately I’ve started to wonder if I will ever overcome social anxiety. Through the years, some parts of my anxiety have gotten better, but some of them are getting much worse these last few. I feel that I am a beautiful person on the outside and on the inside, I care deeply for people and genuinely want to help and connect with them, but I have a VERY hard time doing so.

My main reason for writing this today is because I just recently got a good job where I work with A LOT more people than I have ever worked with before. Since Ive started my panic attacks have gotten worse and they have happen in front of multiple people including my supervisors AND their supervisors!

In the past I have only taken small amounts of xannax a few times, but I ended up having to take 1 to 1.5mg of of them and I would still be freaking out all day long for the most part. I ended up getting a few klonopins and have taken .5mg about 20 minutes before work along with .5mg of xanax. Usually when I get to work I feel a little relaxed going in, but if i have to do anything I havent done before and especially if I have to talk to somebody, once again Im totally freaking out. Usually once I get to my desk and on the phone I will start to relax a little more. Unfortionately it doesnt last for long and I will usually have to take .5mg of xannax more, sometimes twice.

I have remained at 1mg of xanax for the about 3 weeks and I have just started taking klonopins this last week. I feel now that I am on the Kpins I have been able to have 2 conversations with people without FREAKING out, I really cant remember talking to anyone like that before without feeling very uncomfortable. Still if certain people that I think ‘know’ or new people try to talk to me I freak.

In the past I have taken paxil and effexor for about 6 months each and though they helped with a few things, I felt they made a lot of things harder and did not really help enough with my anxiety to go further with them. I was also diagnosed with ADD when I was in 1st grade if that means anything and took a very low dose of it for about a year and felt it made me a zombie.

Im really concerned because I really don’t want to be on medication for the rest of my life. I have been fight this for a long time with very little meds and no results to speak of.

If anyone has any advice about what might help me or advice about medications besides ssri’s and maoi’s (I’m a little scared of them) please let me know.

I feel like I’m taking TOO much as it is and I can still barely handle all of the pressure! What do you think?

My Battle With Anorexia

Admin — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 19:01:24 +0000

by Eimear

I’m Eimear and i’m 17 years old.
I thought I’d tell you my story,
hopefully to inspire other people.
I’m very sorry if this upsets anyone.

This all happened about one year ago.
I’ve never been very confident with myself.
I’ve been bullied practically my whole life, because of everything. Being called fat, because i’m shy & because i’m different from other girls.

It was the whole being called fat thing that bothered me more than anything.
My mum and my friends would be like “you’re perfect as you are.”
That wasn’t good enough.

I was fat and i had to admit it to myself.
I guess at that age, your hormones and emotions are everywhere anyway, and i think some girls really become ‘body conscious’.
I no i did.
I went to a seriously dark place.
I wouldn’t come out of my room, i was crying constantly.
I literally locked myself in my room and looked in the mirror, just crying.
I remember pinching my skin and wanting to get a knife and cut it off. Right there and then. I actually tried to. I got a knife and physically tried to cut it off.
(wow this is really hard to write down! i didnt think it would be)

I wasn’t really mature enough to realize about carbs and things like that. My mum didn’t really talk about it much, i just ate what i was given. Didn’t no what was in it.
So to me – everything was fatty and EVERYTHING had to go.
I starved myself locked away in my room i wouldn’t eat.
When i thought I was going to pass out i’d eat a piece of bread.
and i’d FORCE myself not too eat anymore.

My mum would make my meals but it wasn’t strange for me to eat in my room – i’d done that since i was about 13.
So i’d take my meals up as usual.
I’d hide food in my room and at night i’d take it outside to get rid of it.
It’s fair to say I’d become quite the expert.
this went on for about a week.
My mum came upstairs before I’d managed to take the food outside and she found it.
I tried to convince her it was the right thing to do.
I remember saying “mum its no big deal, i just wanna be thin.”
I remember a lot of crying and shouting, my mum just broke down.

She didn’t take me to the doctors – not straight away.
She didn’t want to admit her daughter had a problem – she’s very old fashioned.
So, she started making me sit downstairs for three meals a day.
I ate them. To make her think i was okay now.
But, for the second and third meal of the day – thats where the being sick started.
I ate breakfast, ‘cos i thought ‘it cant be THAT bad for me’
but for dinner and tea, id eat it and be sick. She had no idea.
At dinner time she made me come home from school to eat.

So about 2-3 months down the line, i looked seriously ill. – i can see that now.
I weighed 5 stone. I did weigh 9 stone.
That’s how much weight i lost in about 2-3 months.
Not good, i realise that now.
But i thought i looked amazing.
I was finally thin like all the girls at school.
But it was strange, i thought if i was like them, they’d hang out with me and talk to me.
But they didn’t. I was stilll an outcast.
So i thought “maybe i’m still fat.”
Stupid, i no that now, but at the time, i genuinly thought i was.

Cut a long story short, it got so bad i was in a coma.
Put into hospital where i had to force fed by nurses.

not a nice thing

i had counselling and help.
it was a very long process
and i’m happy to say, i feel ok now.
I’m still only 6-7 stone.
But i’m happy.
sometimes i feel i look chubby.
But i don’t think about it too much.
i’m just enjoying my life.
yeah, there’s still the bullying and yeah people look at me funny since they know about my problem.
but i can live with that.
i wouldn’t change what i have now for the world.
dying to be thin nearly ended my life.
the doctors didn’t think i’d make it.
and now i realise that nothing could make me wanna do that again.

for all those people out there who are struggeling – you can do it.
you just need realisation that you’re NOT fat.
there’s NO perfect body type out there
& seriously, EVERYONE is PERFECT
listen to that – i didn’t and it almost ruined my life.
don’t let it ruin yours too

My Story of Anorexia