The Hope of a Quiet Mind
Shaking, with tears streaming down my face, I whispered, “It’s never quiet.”
Shaking, with tears streaming down my face, I whispered, “It’s never quiet.”
Each of us would say this to you person-to-person if we could.
I have come to recognize this feeling as dissociation—a mental disconnection from reality.
My doctor told me she was going to write me a prescription for Zoloft, but it was up to me whether I picked it up or not.
When you’re in a cycle of depression, it is so hard to do the things you love because, at the moment, they aren’t of any interest to you.
There can be grief and laughter, loss and love, darkness and joy—all swirling together like wind and rain.
This is not about one bad day.
Woven into this constant connection is a quiet undercurrent of comparison. It becomes almost effortless to internalize the message that we’re behind.
My color is a part of who I am...
It lives in the in-between moments, the ones where you’re not quite falling apart, but not yet feeling okay.
Mental health isn’t separate from culture—it’s shaped by it.
We need not struggle, grieve, or heal alone.
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