Depression : Mental And Physical Illnesses

She thought I was really weird, well she still thinks I’m weird but that is beside the point. At first we spoke two different languages and shared completely different customs. Being the new kid from another country, my conversations with her were tended to be short and awkward and we never had much to talk about. I would laugh when she and her friends laughed, even if I didn’t understand the joke at all. I tried using slang as often as I could, even though I wasn’t sure what any of it meant. However, after an entire year of frustration and self-motivation, I was finally making progress. I picked up some more English and learned a lot about American culture and customs. Then I became even more engaged, I joined the school tennis team and even became the only Chinese cheerleader in our school. Slowly, I found out that Daniela and I share a lot in common: we both love reading, eating healthy and working out. Nowadays she helps me enhance my English and I help her learn how to be more

Her bubbly attitude and determination to make me open up grew on me until I developed a sort of affection for her. We went everywhere together, but with the cold of the winter came the icy resentment I felt whenever she came to school obviously too drugged up to even concentrate. My fear that she would overdose or hurt herself was reminiscent of that which I experienced with my own father. I knew that as time passed my options were increasingly limitted, she wouldn't listen to my advise, she wouldn't come see me everyday anymore, and she found a boyfriend who could supply her with all of her "needs." Soon she almost mirrored my father and I did what I should have always done, I cut her off for good. Like for my father I never really gave up hope that she would come to her senses and get her life together, but she didn't want to change and I didn't want to be around her anymore. I had been surprised by how quickly I had become friends with her and I frankly thought that we could be friends for a long time. However, I realized that while she was changing into what she wanted to be I had to stand my ground and continue to become who I wanted to be, which meant I had to cut her off. Among all thoughts of this experience, one concept will always resonate in my mind which is that while SJ will be dismissed as a young girl who just seemed to be misguided, I will always be hyper analyzed as a product of my parents' own misguided ways. The

When their eyes met mine they began to cry, I could tell that this had shattered them. All they would ask was, “Why Jocelyn, why?” How could I explain to them all the emotions I kept inside? Would they even understand? Of course not! How could they? They had no idea what it was like to feel so low all of the time, and sometimes for no reason at all. They were normal, I wasn’t, and that’s all I wanted to be. I didn’t want to let little things like arguments get to me, but they did and it wasn’t even my fault, that wasn’t the person I knew I truly was, but the depression had taken over my life completely. I thought if I died, people, including my family would simply move on and not give a single thought to why I would end my own life, or even care too much for that matter. But when I looked into their eyes, I saw people who truly cared about me, people who loved me so much that they would give up their own lives to save me. I realized how much pain I had caused them and that was something I never expected to come out of this. I hated causing a cut-straight-to-the-heart kind of pain, which I myself dealt with most of my life. It made me see some things in a different light.

It is 3:27am and she’s crying again. This is the fourth time this week, and it is only Tuesday. I feel bad for her, so much that my wish to have a voice of my own may break this macaroni orange bottle that I am forced to call my home. But I cannot speak; instead, she speaks to me. She holds me and plays with me between her index finger and thumb and whispers. She says I am her only friend; she begs me to help her, and expresses that there is only 86 more days until summer. I see it in her eyes and I feel it in her breath - she has failed.

Even though I know she lives a few states away, her family has discouraged contact between us, and I still feel as though my negligence killed her. And, in a way, it did. If her family and I had caught her depression at an earlier stage, we might’ve saved part of the carefree girl who used to make me laugh with only a sideways look.

When my friend, whom I will call Jane, had asked me to come over to talk, I never would have fathomed what I was about to hear. “I’m depressed,” she confessed off-handedly, her eyes downcast and her fingers fiddling with the comforter on the bed. For a few seconds – but what felt like minutes – I couldn’t form words, shell-shocked and unsure how to respond. I tentatively asked her what made her say that, and for the next hour, I listened to her talk, offering encouraging words and gentle questions when she would occasionally trail off into silence. The delicate nature of the situation felt painfully tangible in those moments, and I struggled to form my sentences so as not to break the balance.

In the same month, I moved to Tom Baines because my parents bought a new house. She left for Houston in October. I did invite her over once, but she didn’t come over because she was busy. I was not able to give her the apology I wanted to give to her.

Finally at 9 pm she got home. She was so worn out, it had been a tough day. Hannah never thought it would be possible to cry so much. She had to give several speeches and she cried during each one. She opened the door and her mom was on the couch. “Mom, are you crying?” Hannah asked. “It wasn’t an easy day. Lilli was always like a daughter to me.” Hannah’s mom replied. They talked till 10pm and then Hannah finally headed upstairs to go to bed. Hannah opened the bedroom door and turned on the light. Hannah was startled by a figure sitting on her bed. It turned and looked at Hannah. It was Lilli. “Lilli?” Hannah said so confused. “I watched you be buried! How are you here?” Hannah asked. Lilli just sat there and stared outside Hannah’s bedroom window. Hannah walked over and hugged Lilli. After what seemed like forever Lilli said “I couldn’t leave the earth without seeing you one more time. I needed to tell you it's not your fault I’m dead. It was my stupidity that killed me.” Tears were rolling down Lilli’s and Hannah’s faces. “Lilli I love you so much and want you to be here with me. I love you so much.” “I’ll never graduate, get married or have kids.” Lilli replied. “Hannah promise me you’ll not let my death affect the rest of your life? Do the things I never got to do and make sure you never text and drive.” Lilli said. “I promise!” Hannah said. Hannah and Lilli hugged one more time and then

A lonely girl sat on the hill the wind blowing her all this way and that, the cold numbing her hands and feet; however, this wasn’t what was making the tears fall down her cheeks – sticking to her face. It was the loneliness inside of her that she couldn’t express except through her tears that made her feel empty. All she needed was a hug, a loving word, and all would feel right, but no one came. This was the little girl I meet when I went on a mission trip to Palau. She would drive all her teachers crazy with her outbursts of energy or rage; but as I got to know her and drew closer to her during my time there, she began to open up and let me into her life. I learned that she came from a broken home where the word “love” was rarely, if ever,

I’m the only one that was ever really pleasant to her. She’s outcasted during lunch, sitting by herself, writing in her notebook. I try to sit with her whenever I can. I don’t talk to her much, though. Just a simple greeting and wave when we meet in the hallway. I don’t have time to look after her like I did before. Besides, my final piano exam is coming up.

I stood next to her and gently ran my fingers across her back. I wanted to let her know that she was not alone. Her body was tense and her face pale. She turned and clasped my arm and I felt her body trembling. I asked her, just above a whisper, "What is it? What happened?" She tried to stifle her sobbing to speak, but only a feeble whimper fell from her mouth.

After she had left my vision, I let out a sensitive murmur; work is upsetting, connections are distressing, why is everything unpleasant? Life was a drag right then and there, I knew I had a decent situation however I couldn't help to think everything was bleak. Obviously, Jess wasn't an issue, possibly I had become exhausted of work. For me, it wasn't too much of a surprise. Indeed, even as a child I repulsed simplicity, my rebellious nature craved excitement.

One night, when we were sipping our wines in front of the fire, she confided me her biggest heartbreak: First, she told me how she did not feel loved by her mother as a child. Her mother always kept her -a year or so- younger sister above her. Crystal was very close to her father. Her father gave her extra love and attention that her mother would not give. When Crystal was a young child, her father gave her a puppy. As years passed, Crystal, her father and the puppy bonded deeply. Crystal’s father died when she was 17, shortly before she left home for college. She had a very tough time that year. When she came home for the summer, she found that her mother had given her puppy away. Her mother refused to tell where the puppy went. Instead, she said something like this:

Once we had heard from her the next morning, I was instantly relieved. Although I was felt a sense of closure with the situation, I was still curious towards how I could help my friend through this difficult time. We are often quick to judge those who may be experiencing depression or suicidal thoughts, especially when we know little about it and have no personal experiences to relate. I thought the best way for me to contribute to her health was to offer support, rather than offering advice or direction. Corrine suggests in the novel that “the load is lighter when shared, and such sharing is the essence of friendship” when describing her experience of loss and the role that her friends played in her experience. This novel suggested to me that listening is often the best form of support to give to those both suffering and grieving,

Throughout November and December, we would stay close friends and I tried my hardest to make her happy. There was truly no way to do so. She was so deep in depression that she saw no hope for her future, although she excelled in school, acting, and singing. Nothing added up to me and it frustrated me knowing that I couldn’t help her in any way more than just being there to talk to her. No matter hard I tried I made no progress. I made sure that she had told her parents and that she was seeking professional help, which was happening. I never truly understood