Thank you so much for making this thread. Mental illness is definitely stigmatized and often laughed about, and I'm glad other people understand that it really shouldn't be a joke. I created a project at the beginning of this year, where I asked people in my class to anonymously write poems, stories, or whatever about mental health, and I was shocked by the work I received. Nobody ever discusses this type of thing, so it's often hard to realize people may be going through more than you think.

I may post one of my original poems on here. I'm not sure. But thank you again <3 

I wrote this a while ago. Not sure if the whole thing will be able to be posted.

Here goes nothing.

Happy: The First Interlude

What are little girls made of?

Happy giggled and slammed her tiny hands repeatedly on the small drum resting in her lap. Other kids in the circle, none older than six, each played their own pint-sized instruments. 

Sugar and spice and everything nice, that’s what little girls are made of.   

Happy choked back sobs in the school bathroom, the paper in her fist marked with red. Her breathing was shallow. She flung it at the garbage can in a sudden surge of anger. She missed. Happy blotted her face with a wet paper towel.

It was just one test, she told herself, squeezing her eyes shut. It was just one test. I’ll be okay.

I will be okay.

What are little boys made of?

Happy was out of breath on the playground, running from a boy chasing her. He brushed her back with an outstretched hand and crowed, “I got you! I got you!”

Happy grinned, swallowed her pride, and whirled around to dash after him. 

Snakes and snails and puppy dog tails, that’s what little boys are made of.

Happy brushed tears off her face and jiggled door knob. Still locked. She heard her brother’s laughter from somewhere in the house. She wanted to scream. She tried to scream. She couldn’t. She couldn’t see anything except the outline of a fur coat. She tasted salt. And blood.

Happy stood and kicked the door as hard as she possibly could. Nothing happened. Her foot throbbed.

Happy cried.

Happy: The Second Interlude

He was fine.

He was that little boy who chased girls on the playground, who pulled their hair and dared them to jump from the top of the slide. He pushed other kids and skinned his knees and talked back to his teachers. He flunked tests with a smile and had friends who didn’t care.

He was fine.

Why wouldn’t he be?

He didn’t know exactly when everything changed. It could have been the day his sister left for college and all eyes were suddenly on him. It could have been when Jack coughed and it landed on his arm. It could have been the day he couldn’t look at his messy binder, with papers poking out in every direction, without wanting to vomit. Everything was different.

He suddenly started caring.

He began washing his hands more often and using hand sanitizer. He organized his belongings and kept his room nice and straightened up. He pulled himself together, sometimes staying up past midnight, to make sure he always got a hundred percent.

If you were to ask him, he’d say he was fine. Perfectly fine. Better than fine, even. And he genuinely believed it.

The purple under his eyes and hands, pink from being scrubbed so hard, told a different story.

He started carrying a miniature package of tissues with him. He couldn’t have any mud on his white shoes. His room had to be spotless. He had to chew each bite an even number of times. No exceptions.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care because it didn’t affect him. He had straight A’s, his bedroom was perfect, and he didn’t have anything hanging over his head. Seemed pretty darn fine to him.

Once, there was a storm.
Sighing,
singing,
the wind flowed.
Whistling
over the spires.
Water,
lapped at its sides.
The castle stood strong.
From inside there was a
drip,
drip,
drop,
dropping down, down, down,
like his stomach when he heard those words
"Not good enough."
The drip falls into a puddle.
Echos rang,
Steel on stone sang,
as a battle was waged.
The Captain faced against his foe,
spinning, swirling,
coming together, breaking apart.
a deadly dance, to be preformed only once...

Once there was a girl

chained by responsability

by pressure
by those stares and whispers
to the ocean floor.
She screamed,
so full of pain and anguish,
but nobody could hear.
Her screams dismissed as crashing waves
her tears mist,
her pain was caught in the current
pulled deeper and deeper inside.
She wanted to be heard just once…

Once there was a writer
stuck writing word after word.
Sentences built themselves up 
and came crumbling down.
Their works ridiculed,
their dreams shattered,
they settled in their half built castle.
With their half finished fighters
dancing their half finished dance.
The girl, drowned in her sorrows.
The boy, trapped in his prison. 

The author,
left in a trance,
their soul’s only desire leaves them feeling unfinished.
The only thing that is whole
is the wind,
the rain,
the stars,
and the sky.

I love both of these stories and they were written amazingly. If anybody needs help with coping methods or advice or anything feel free to ask, and we will help as best we can. Or if y’all just need a big bear hug. *big bear hugs*

I would like to share some experiences, just for starters.

Hi, I’m Claaws, and I’ve been diagnosed with Major depression, Generalized Anxiety, PTSD, (possible) ADHD, (possible) psychosis, (possible) Bipolar disorder. The latter are still being ‘processed’ cause apparantly a lot of testing has to go into it or whatever. I also have problems with authoritative figures (hello admins lol). But I’m not ashamed. I’m a survivor and a warrior. I can and I will get through this. 

I see things. I hear things, things that no one else does. Sometimes I scare myself with the things that come into my mind and how hard I have to try to convince myself out of following through with those ideas. I see people, shadows, hear people talking to me, footsteps, dogs barking, and strangely enough I often smell chamomile tea during one of my episodes, think it might be some sort of calming coping method my brain came up with all on its own. My friends say that the things I experience are real, if only to me. And that’s ok. It’s compleatly valid.

I would like to ask if some of you would share your stories. Anonymously or not. The best way to end stigma is to share our stories and end the sort of ‘unknown’ around mental illness. What people don’t understand makes them afraid. And there is nothing to fear about mental health. 

Spread awarness!!

Lots of love to all <3

A quote that I found that I liked: 

You never know that you are in darkness until you find the light. 

Claaws-thank you so much for making this thread. 

Hi, *waves shyly* I'm Joan B. of Arc. I don't post much, but I'm an older CBer, and am always "looking out for the CB" if that makes sense. I post when I feel it's needed. 

I made a post sort of like this a while back, but this is a very good reminder to us all to remember that there are those struggling. 

My school came out with a series of videos about Mental Health Awareness, and they made me cry. I hate how everyone treats others like they're nothing, and I hate how everyone feels like they're alone when they struggle with anxiety, depression, etc. We need to teach schools and everyone more about this issue. 

I have many friends who struggle with depression or anxiety and it makes me hurt how much it hurts them when they struggle. Because I want to help them. I want to take it all away from them. I want to make it stop for them. 

The only thing I can do to truly help my friends is listen. And stay optimistic. But mostly listen to them, help them see that there are people who care. Who are there. 

And it's hard to do so. Especially when they won't listen. But I still continue. 

And it gets even harder. Because recently I discovered that I struggle with anxiety... more than is normal. And it hurts. Because I hide what I feel from my friends when I see that they need help. Because I'd rather help them then they help me.  But it still hurts. 

Everyone struggles with something. So please. Watch. You're not the only one struggling. Help. Get help for your friends or yourself if needed. Don't wait. And LISTEN. You never know how much you can help others just by listening to them rant. 

#Breakthestigma.  

what happened to crystal's post admins?

It's under consideration, but may not be posted at all. Much of it is beyond the scope of Chatterbox.

Admin