Tag: mental health

happy pill depression poem birdie fudge

Happy Pill [a poem]

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By Birdie Fudge | Featured Contributor

A while back, I went on medication for the first time for my major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety. I wrote poems every day, starting from the first day I took the pill. I used my poetry to track my mood and the timeline of the medicine taking effect. When I look at the poetry written during the beginning of that journey and compare it to now, it’s as if two different people are speaking. This poem reflects me in the beginning of my journey. My other poem, “I am Grateful,” reflects how I feel today.

***

It’s like suddenly
I took this magic pill 
and I was given the gift of reason 
and all my fears seemed to disappear 
my anxieties subsided 
or at least they were dulled out 
beneath the surface 
the layer of fog 
on top of all my other emotions 
became lifted

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Cynthia Cady Stanton poem on the wing of the breath

On the Wing of the Breath [a poem]

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By Cynthia Cady Stanton | Featured Contributor

Create some wind.
No matter what swirls around you,
add some air to it.
Whether it is a sigh 
or a deep gulp,
get it going.

Don’t get caught in the holding of your inner breezes.
This only creates pain…
Life is born in and through us
and it is only on the wing of our precious breath
that we can unfold and float
among the mountains and valleys.

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Stepping into Unknown Kathy Ha anxiety

Stepping into the Unknown

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By Kathy Ha | Featured Contributor

Overthinking and overanalyzing is a common problem with anxiety sufferers. The mind likes to run in endless loops of worthless conjecture, questioning, dissecting and criticizing every decision and response. It becomes a hardwired obsessive behavior that leaves the person physically exhausted and emotionally drained. Without intervention and retraining of the mind, life can feel like an insurmountable hurdle.

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Evelyn Jervey Willburn depression story

In Which I Face Down Depression and Gain the Upper Hand

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By Evelyn Jervey Willburn | Featured Contributor

Looking back, I would say that the first time I became depressed was when I entered fourth grade. That year, my class was divided into two groups, and I found myself separated from all my previous year’s playmates. I didn’t bounce back: that year started my long, mostly self-imposed exile at school. At recess, I paced the perimeter of the playground, and as I moved up through the grades, I effectively rendered myself invisible. The occasional thoughtless comment that came my way from some popular kid became my excuse for further isolation. Once in seventh grade I went to see the school counselor, and she showed me a poster on her wall. In the poster, a group of cartoon hippos were piling into a small boat, threatening to swamp it. The caption read, “More is not always better.” That message stayed with me, in the background, but it was many years before I really understood it or was able to assimilate it into my worldview.

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