mental-illness

There is a dead space between most people and those afflicted with Mental Illness and it's called Understanding

Admitting the need for help may also compound the survivor's sense of defeat. The therapists Inger Agger and Soren Jensen, who work with political refugees, describe the case of K, a torture survivor with severe post-traumatic symptoms who adamantly insisted that he had no psychological problems: "K...did not understand why he was to talk with a therapist. His problems were medical: the reason why he did not sleep at night was due to the pain in his legs and feet. He was asked by the therapist...about his political background, and K told him that he was a Marxist and that he had read about Freud and he did not believe in any of that stuff: how could his pain go away by talking to a therapist?

Experience has taught us that we have only one enduring weapon in our struggle against mental illness: the emotional discovery of our truth about the unique history of our childhood.

I don__ like psychiatrists,_ Alecto told her. __ot because they don__ think I__ real, but because they have no idea what they__e doing.

People with OCD including myself, realize that their seemingly uncontrollable behavior is irrational, but they feel unable to stop it.

The human being is so complicated in some ways, and yet so simple in others. Sometimes, we need complex medication regimens. Yet, sometimes, we just need a good cry.

Want to do something noble and courageous while you're on this Earth treat the mentally ill like they have some worth.

Often during writing, I am compelled by OCD to delete and rewrite a word or sentence over and over again.

The creature who lives inside my brain suggested I do it,_ I offered tentatively. __t was very convincing.

It was as if single nights had the duration of centuries, so within that time the most profound alterations in the whole of mankind, in the earth itself and the whole solar system could very well have taken place.

The Goth boy stares at me, and I give him a what-are-you-looking-at stare right back. ____ dead,_ he says in a dull monotone. __ardon me?_ Adriana asks, but he keeps staring at me. __ou__e dead, too. Look at your veins. They__e blue._ He points at my forearms where dark veins run their lengths. __ou__e rotting like me._ I glance to Adriana, hands clasped and praying that she won__ leave me here. Adriana__ stopped crying now and squints at the boy before standing to pull closed the curtain that rings my cot. __razy,_ she says with an uncertain smile. __ou__e not rotting._ . . . ninety-nine, one hundred . __o,_ I reply. __ut I will if you leave me here.

There is a particular kind of pain, elation, loneliness, and terror involved in this kind of madness. When you're high it's tremendous. The ideas and feelings are fast and frequent like shooting stars, and you follow them until you find better and brighter ones. Shyness goes, the right words and gestures are suddenly there, the power to captivate others a felt certainty. There are interests found in uninteresting people. Sensuality is pervasive and the desire to seduce and be seduced irresistible. Feelings of ease, intensity, power, well-being, financial omnipotence, and euphoria pervade one's marrow. But, somewhere, this changes. The fast ideas are far too fast, and there are far too many; overwhelming confusion replaces clarity. Memory goes. Humor and absorption on friends' faces are replaced by fear and concern. Everything previously moving with the grain is now against-- you are irritable, angry, frightened, uncontrollable, and enmeshed totally in the blackest caves of the mind. You never knew those caves were there. It will never end, for madness carves its own reality.

I compare myself with my former self, not with others. Not only that, I tend to compare my current self with the best I have been, which is when I have been midly manic. When I am my present "normal" self, I am far removed from when I have been my liveliest, most productive, most intense, most outgoing and effervescent. In short, for myself, I am a hard act to follow.

Social psychologist argued that even severe mental illness was the result of society labeling unusual behavior rather than of biochemical processes.

Depression: the healthy suspicion that modern life has no meaning and that modern society is absurd and alienating.

I swear that I will never cause trouble for anybody, as long as I live!! So please! Nobody cause any trouble for me, either!!

After being hurt by the world so much, they began to see the demons within humans. So without hiding it through trickery, they worked to express it.

I wonder if there is anyone who is not depraved. A wearisome thought.I want money. Unless I have it....In my sleep, a natural death!