Personal Narrative: Growing Up With Mental Illness

I am surrounded by darkness, confined in a paltry room its contents limited to a bed with a thin mattress and pillow. The air is dense and smells of blood. The brown walls smothered in writing reek of mulch. The only way to get in or out is through a small metal door that is locked from the outside. I feel like a caged animal, my every move being watched.

It took me educating myself about mental illnesses, and dragging myself from the deep end, to realize what had been staring me in the face all along: I had been depressed, I had insomnia, I had been fatigued. Yet, somehow I managed to rise above it. I adapted. My skin got thicker, my tongue got sharper and I grew up.

I was feeling my anxiety level rising, my whole body getting weak, and the thought of wanting to cry was to its max. But then I realized, why should I be doing this to myself? Why not just go and talk to people,make new friends, and be a different self? In response to those thoughts scattering throughout my mind, I never would have thought I could be where I was today only because one little turnaround; to this day, I am now the leader of the team and all the girls look up to me in some sort of way. I, as the team leader, have no fear of messing up or even feeling self-conscious around any of my

I isolated myself from my friends and family and I refused to tell anyone what my mom was going through. It seemed as though my whole life was falling apart and I yearned for a happy family. I thought that if I didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t exist and I

I was one of those people that wanted everyone to know I was sad and have sympathy for me. People at my school started to report my state to the office who would then contact my parents. The people in the office had no idea what it was like going through someone you're very close with not wanting to live anymore. Seventh grade I switched schools. This is about the time I started self-harming my body.

Instead of fulfilling the depressed stereotype by moping and and wallowing in self-pity, I delved deeper into my disorder by developing new vices. I constantly skipped class and devoted my time to people and things that were less than deserving. As a result, my relationship with my family deteriorated and the bond that took me almost four years to form with my closest friends was virtually nonexistent. It angered me that things in my life were so chaotic. I blamed it on everyone else but myself.

She found out that I self harmed and took me straight to the doctor. They recommended me to therapists, but those therapists didn’t help much. I ended up going to a psychiatric hospital after a few months for trying to kill myself. It got really bad. After that I finally got new therapists and actually started to feel better.

it was a summer night at mark walters house. When he woke up by an intruder in his house. He chased him outside with a baseball bat and as he was running away. The chase got out the house and mark struck him in the back of the head. With a loud crack and a blood splatter of the brains onto the ground.

Poetry is not meant to be luxurious and obvious, it is a secret form of communication that can be done on a subway, in bed, or in the middle of eating a sandwich. Poetry allows those struggling to find the words to say and act as a means to share exactly what is on their mind. Creative practices are becoming a prominent and significant recovery method for the mentally ill and unstable. They enable people to express what they may be unable to say in any other way, and give them a safe place to share it. While mental illnesses are better understood and accepted by most individuals, there is still a large negative stigma to those who suffer from illnesses such as depression and bipolar disorder.

Last year I realized I lost and had no friends, I started to get depressed and did not want to do anything anymore. I learned that this was a crisis and my adrenaline started pumping. It took me awhile to figure out I do not need anybody that does not need me. I learned that once something bad happens, you realize you are not alone in this world. Everything happens for a reason, good or bad.

Aspergers, Anxiety, Depression In first, second and third grade, I never had a friend. I was loud, single minded, obnoxious, and unable to interact with children my age without making them feel extremely off-put. Once I started getting into fights with the kids who were bullying me, I was diagnosed with Asperger’s.

In order to pull myself out of the warm embrace of my bed every morning, I require grit: perseverance, passion, and mental strength. To begin, I must explain that I have major depressive disorder, a disorder in which I am not able to see the point of doing things and be a functioning member of society, and getting out of bed everyday is by far my biggest obstacle. More specifically, days that I am forced to pry myself out of bed and attend class are the worst, but I persevere and accomplish the task every time I can; I tell myself “you can do this”. Consequently, I am granted the power of perseverance and have an ability to keep going, even when I doubt that I can. Secondly, my burning passion for a few things helps me keep afloat.

On Christmas Eve my junior year of college, my grandpa and grandma on my mom’s side passed away in an accident. A week later, my older brother suffered from a psychotic episode and was admitted to a psychiatric hospital with symptoms of schizophrenia. Travelling back to school, I was physically and emotionally drained. This was hardest time of my life and the largest obstacle I have faced so far. I rely on my family for support and this foundation had been severely shaken; however, I did not have time to mourn and recover.

Most importantly, im getting my life back on track. I come back to college to finish my Associate degree, getting a new job, and most of it is getting back to how my life was before. Sometimes life puts us by the edge of steeped, not to punish for the wrong things one has made, but to teach as human being to value more what really matters in life. In my personal life experience, I had to leave everything and anything. However, I do not regret in any way because it has taught me to be a more persistent person and able to deal with more than I ever though could be able to do.

Walking around school knowing that my previous friend was telling people that “I was a terrible person” and that I “didn’t deserve friends,” was unquestionably difficult for me to focus in class. I was extremely close to feeling like I was less that a human, more of a nobody that didn’t matter. It’s the next school year, I’m in the 10th grade now, and I am not as depressed as I was. I have friends that I trust and they support me.