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People often hide their depression well. We don’t want to worry our loved ones. We fear being judged and stigmatized—even now when mental illness is much better understood and accepted than in decades past. We may see our disease as a weakness, something that we need to tackle alone. Maybe we’re in denial, hiding our depression not only from others but from ourselves. 
I'm demisexual—I'll explain what that is. The first sign that I was on the asexual spectrum was back when I was in middle school. I remember driving in the car with my mom getting annoyed as I listened to the radio. Every song was about sex, love, or drugs. I didn't understand why the themes for music were so narrow. People could sing about anything, yet they would always sing about the same old things. I off-handedly said, "Why is every song about sex? Can't they sing about something else?"
This year, I started training for a particularly ambitious fitness goal: a 10-day trek in the Himalayan Mountains. In October 2023, I will travel to Nepal and embark on the adventure of a lifetime, but first, I need to acclimate to hiking in extreme weather conditions at the highest altitude on earth. That's no small feat for someone who lives in Phoenix, Arizona, a desert with minimal elevation.
It's common knowledge that too much stress is bad for our health, but those of us with a mental health diagnosis can face another risk from stress, which is increased symptoms. As part of my self-care or lifestyle monitoring, I try to reduce how much stress I experience daily to manage anxiety and schizophrenia symptoms.
You may remember me as the blogger who wrote for "Work and Bipolar or Depression" or "Coping with Depression" here at HealthyPlace. While blogging on this platform has been a career highlight, I took time off from writing about depression for my mental health. Now that I am better, I feel grateful for the opportunity to write for "Mental Health for The Digital Generation." Although I wish I had never left, I know why I needed to do so: we live in a chaotic world where regular mental health breaks are essential.
I have had many people talk to me about struggling with low self-confidence and negative self-talk and how hard it has been for them to train themselves to stop letting negative emotions control their lives. For years, I, too, struggled with these feelings. Self-criticism was a daily practice, and I would find fault in everything I did.
Looking back at all my past problems from where I am today, it's often hard to remember just how low I felt. It's hard to remember the many years I spent stuck in a vicious cycle of anxiety, panic attacks, and obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), not knowing if I would ever be able to break free and live a happy and fulfilling life again. There were intermittent periods of depression when I was unable to see any reason for existence. Thankfully, those days are over.
Have you ever had a moment that makes you question every bit of recovery you’ve achieved to that point? I have—recently, I questioned my skin picking recovery. 
In 1999, when I was in fifth grade, a police officer came to our school dressed in a Drug Abuse Resistance Education (D.A.R.E.) t-shirt. He was carrying a gun and wearing a stern face. Without any words, he communicated that using drugs led to extreme consequences. His lecture taught us that drug addicts deserve to be locked up. But criminalizing addiction turned out to be more hurtful than helpful.
Since I have arthritis in my knees and schizoaffective disorder, the migraines I suffer are a substantial extra load. And now I know what it’s like to have my physical illnesses treated more seriously than my mental illness. This is the story of a time when I stood up for my mental health, and my mental illness was treated seriously.

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Linda singer
I have shared similar frustrations—glad to finally have a name for what makes my life more difficult. I have no sensory memory, but profound emotional ones— not always helpful, either!
Kayla Holtom
I am 16 with a twin brother,Kevin.We both recieved our Sacrement of Confirmation back in early September in the class of 23. Kevin and the other boys had to wear white suits and me and the other girls had to wear white,short sleeve floor length dresses with a veil,white gloves.lace anklets and white maryjane shoes.Two weeks before the ceremony,dad told mom that he wanted me diapered under my dress and mom went along with it! She got a package of 26x27 inch cloth diapers and sewed them together in my waist size to make one diaper out of them.She ordered a pair of white adult size rubberpants[plasticpants] and got a card of diaper pins at Walmart.That sunday morning,after my bath,mom had me sit down on my bed and lay back.She slid the folded diaper under me,applied the babypowder,then brought the diaper up and pinned the corners.Then she put my feet into the waist and leg openings of the rubberpants and pulled them up my legs and over the diaper.Since they were adult size,they fit me blousy over the diaper.My top was put on next,then my dress,veil,lace anklets and the shoes.I was brought out and shown to dad and Kevin.Mom lifted up my dress and showed them the diaper and rubberpants and i turned red!I felt weird walking down the aisle with my classmates and having the diaper and rubberpants on under my dress!
Hanna
How do we not traumatize our children like we were traumatized? How do we stop the cycle of abuse? This is nearly impossible if you have never been parented properly. My parents were hopeless, an autistic and traumatized father who was lashing out at my family every day and created true hell in the house and constantly depressed, fearful and dark mother who looked the other way. How do you fix yourself without any help when this happened to you and now boiler breaks down in the middle of winter and you get fired from work, which is what happened to me? I lashed out at my kids last night. They are unruly and messy and just being kids and of course this is not a reason to freak out like I did. Every time this happens it breaks my heart but I am powerless to stop it. We don't have money for trauma therapist. My childhood was hell, I was on drugs from depression since age 12 or so, the last 35 years, I had to find an own dr as a kid because my parents could not care less. I fist tried to commit suicide at age 14 or so and they just said that I needed to get a hobby. My friends mother was an MD and she saw me for free and gave me drugs, the old type of antidepressants, but they did not help. Since then I have had diagnoses of BPD and depression all my life and have been on Zoloft every day. My brain is probably already damaged beyond repair from 35 years of taking Zoloft. Never had a chance to do therapy. I am now 48. We lost all our lifetime savings on a buying a house for our kids that is unsellable now and don't know where to start fixing it without money for therapy.
Natasha Tracy
Hi Dave,

Thank you for your comment. I'm so sorry your friend is going through that.

Unfortunately, I don't know of any information on that topic. The best thing she can do is talk to a psychiatrist about her situation because everyone reacts differently to coming off of medications.

I hope she gets the help she needs.

-- Natasha Tracy
Dave Beaulieu
A friend of mine is in some seriously deep trouble. She went off of her medications for bi-polar and anxiety cold turkey. She fell asleep in her car due to this and was arrested by police, who noticed a baggie of white powder on her lap. Upon being awakened, then frisked by male officers, she went ballistic and started kicking and threatening the cops, who were incidentally armed to the teeth. When forced into the squad car she endeavored to hang herself with the seat belt. The cops actually had to cut the seat belt out of the car to protect her from herself. Her medications were Seroquil, Zoloft, trazadone and a few others. Do you have any information on violence by people going off their medications?